Driven

Susanne Beck and TNovan

These characters and the story surrounding them are owned by the authors and may not be reproduced without their express written consent.  There are bits of naughty language scattered here and there, as well as several tasteful, yet graphic, scenes of love between two consenting human beings of the same gender.  Those offended by any of the above are welcomed to click the little red "X" at the top of their viewscreen and shut themselves of this story forever.

DRIVEN

Richard “Mac” MacKenzie liked to think of himself as a lucky man.  And so he would tell you, if ever you were unfortunate enough to be pinned in the corner with him at a cocktail party.

And if there had ever been a sub-species of the genus Homo Sapiens, he might even have been correct in his assessment.  Born to a poor, but loving family in the steel town of Gary, Indiana, Mac had one thing that made him stand out from the rest of the steelworkers’ sons he called friends.

The genes of a six foot six inch father ran through his veins, awaiting adolescence’s beckoning call.

Though topping out at an inch shorter than his father’s not inconsiderable height, Richard parlayed his genetic gift into a “full ride” scholarship to Indiana University, where he took his lumps, both literal and figurative.  Drafted in the later rounds by his hometown team, the Indiana Pacers, he had himself a decent NBA career, in longevity, if nothing else.  The classic story of small town boy makes good.

Where others would have been content to rest on their laurels after their playing days were over, lending their names to fast food restaurants or strings of car dealerships, and telling their glory stories in local watering holes for an Old Milwaukee, Mac knew that sometimes lucky men made their own fortune.

So he took his years of basketball experience, combined it with his IU business degree, and jumped in on the sub-basement level of a business venture that had the mark of three-day old road kill writ large all over it.

And that venture was known, to the few who cared, as the Women’s Basketball League, though its initials were more often translated to form such witticisms as  the “What Basketball? League” or the “Wobbling Boobs League” to mention two of the more repeatable ones.

To say what the WBL was on its last legs when Mac climbed aboard would have been a bit of an understatement.  Caught between the rock of dyke drama, the hard place of “Family Values”, and the black hole of fan ennui, the Women’s Basketball League was an elderly matron with one foot in the grave, and the other on a banana peel.

But, as Mac was quick to tell everyone within hearing distance, lucky men jumped head first into shit heaps and came up smelling like roses. 

Mac’s particular shit heap bore the title “General Manager of the WBL Louisiana Lightning.”

His rose was Pallas Dylan Lambert.  Also known as “the Goddess”, a play on both her name and on her skills.

A basketball phenom since her elementary school days, Dylan graduated from UCLA holding over one hundred school records, as well as national collegiate records in several scoring categories.  If, upon graduation, she wasn’t the best woman’s basketball player ever, she was certainly far ahead of whomever was in second place.

The fact that she was drop-dead gorgeous didn’t hurt matters either.  Six feet, three inches of wiry muscle and feminine curves, topped by a halo of jet black hair and eyes so blue they glowed, she had the face that launched a thousand dreams, many of them wet.

Ordinarily, Mac and the Lightning would never have had a shot at the only player worth drafting, but a lucky man is a man with foresight, and Mac had shown just such prescience the year before by trading two of his better forwards to the worst team in the league in return for a journeyman player he didn’t need, and a number one draft pick he did.

A quick trip to the podium on draft day, and the woman who would come to be known to the world as Ms. Michael Jordan was his.

Dylan didn’t disappoint.  She was every bit the player advertised, and then some.  With a strong work ethic, astounding beauty, and phenomenal skills on the court, she elevated women’s basketball to a level never before dreamed of, let alone seen.

And soon, people began to take notice.  Talk spread, in small circles at first, that maybe the WBL wasn’t quite as dead as it seemed.  Dylan’s name began popping up in casual conversation almost as fast as her face popped up on the covers of all sorts of magazines, from torrid tabloids, to sporting journals, to such bastions of feminine fare as McCall’s, Mademoiselle, and Redbook.

As fans began to return to the arena in droves to see this new wunderkind, the endorsement deals began to roll in.  Not only from the traditional standbys such as cosmetic and feminine protection companies, supporters of women’s sports for years, but real endorsements, from the famous makers of athletic apparel and sporting goods long known for their unsubtle wooing of whatever male athlete was hot at the moment.

Dylan took it all in stride, carrying the league on her broad shoulders and vaulting them all up through the glass ceiling and into the stratosphere of popularity, money, and celebrity.

A lucky man knows, however, that into every life a little rain must fall. 

Mac’s storm cloud burst upon him in all its glory during the summer Olympics.  The American Women’s Basketball Team had the gold medal won before they even left their own shores, and win it they did, but at a cost almost too high for any of them to pay.

The gold medal game was between the USA and Russia, a match up reminiscent of the famous men’s games back before the Berlin Wall came tumbling down.  As games went, it was a laugher, with the USA leading by almost forty points before the first half had even run out of minutes.

By all rights and common good sense, Dylan should have been warming the bench by the time the forth quarter rolled around.  Fifty points was a lead even a group of vertically challenged pre-schoolers wouldn’t have problems holding onto.  Especially with only four minutes left.

But America wanted to see her Goddess in action, and with just a minute and a half to go, disaster struck, as if from Mount Olympus itself.  The Russians, who weren’t taking kindly to being used as cannon fodder, assembled quickly downcourt, and Dylan found herself pinned between two monoliths with murder in their eyes just as she’d gone up for one of her infamous jams.

When the dust cleared, the monoliths were out cold, and Pallas Dylan Lambert’s playing career was over.

When she woke up from surgery that pinned her broken femur, and repaired her ruptured Achilles tendon and shredded ACL, she was told that she might never walk again, and certainly not without a limp.

She proved them wrong, using the same focus and intensity of purpose she’d always employed to get what she wanted.  Long before even the experts thought it was possible, she was not only walking without a limp, she was also running, and juking, and jumping, making it clear to one and all that she would be back as good as ever.

And that might have been true, had not her custom-made knee brace chosen to fail during what should have been a routine warm-up.  Her still healing joint gave out, dumping her to the ground as her newly repaired and suddenly overstressed ligaments went the way of her brace and tore themselves to shreds once again.

The corrective surgery was simple enough, but when it was over, Dylan was left with one message.

Do it again, and you could lose your leg.

The owners of the Lightning, a consortium of old money gents from the deep south, panicked.  Their team had held the championship title for five years, and if a sixth wasn’t a sure bet, a great number of people would be very angry.  And anger from some of the more notorious investors would mean a great deal more than a nasty fan letter or two.  Dark haired men in darker suits were experts at making their disappointments disappear.  Permanently.

The fact of the matter was, however, that without their superstar, the Lightning was a mediocre team at best, more than capable of bringing up the league’s rear in any given season.  The owners had become so miserly and lazy after Dylan’s signing that they hadn’t even drafted a competent backup for her, despite Mac’s loudly voiced objections, and instead spent their money on a plethora of short guards who were of no use to them now.

Seeing this, the rest of the league’s teams licked their chops like a pack of ravenous wolves with a dying elk in their midst.  Trade offers were cut off at the knees as owners and general managers rubbed their hands together with glee, convinced that their ships had finally come in.

All, that is, except for one.

The Birmingham Badgers was a rookie expansion team chock full of cast-offs, over-the-hill rejects, and mildly promising rookies long on potential and short on experience.  They weren’t planning on making any upward moves in the next few years, but no one seemed to mind.  The Badgers had two things in abundance; money and time.  What they didn’t have was a coach.

Thus, the wheels were set in motion for a trade the likes of which had only really been seen in the NFL.  The Badgers dealt two of their power forwards—a crafty, if slow, veteran, and a young, somewhat talented rookie, plus their number four pick in the draft, all for the services of Pallas Dylan Lambert as the Badgers’ new head coach.

When Mac heard the news, he came as close to having a stroke as he hoped he’d ever get.  All of his arguments, and he made quite a few, fell on deaf ears.

He tendered his resignation the day the deal was signed.

The Badgers accepted him with open arms the next day.

Which was why, two years later, he found himself sitting in the crowded stands at Madison Square Garden, watching Dylan Lambert watch ten young women run up and down a basketball court during the final game of the NCAA Women’s Basketball Championship.

The game itself was an entertaining one, with the number one ranked University of Connecticut Huskies going up against the number two ranked University of Tennessee Lady Vols.  The lead had changed hands two dozen times and halftime was still five minutes in the future.  The young players were giving it their all, both for the glory of their schools, and for the eyes of whatever professional scouts happened to be watching.

Shifting uncomfortably in a seat much too small to hold his generous frame, Mac turned to his left to study Dylan’s profile as she stared, with hawk-like intensity, down onto the court.  From the corner of his eye, he could see several fans staring at Dylan and whispering among themselves.  Thus far, his glares had been enough to warn them off, but he knew that wouldn’t be the case for long. 

Since her playing career had ended, Dylan’s public appearances had dwindled down to almost nil, by choice. Even so, she was a bigger draw than even the game the fans had paid good money to see, and things could get sticky for them both.

He shifted again.  “Dylan…”

The piercing gaze swung his way, all put pinning him to his seat.  Even after eight years, he still wasn’t used to it.

He cleared his throat and tried again.  “Do you think we could get back up to the Sky Box now?  They’re starting to watch you more than the game.”

He breathed a sigh of relief when Dylan’s gaze swung away to casually scan the crowd, then tightened up again when she looked back at him, a smirk firmly in place on her face.

“Aww, c’mon, D.,” he rushed on, desperate to get her to see things his way. “Remember last time you were out like this?  They practically had to call in the National Guard to get us out of the mob scene!  I’ve still got fingernail marks in places fingernails were never meant to be.”

“You can go up if you want.”  Her voice was deep and warm, holding a slight note of affectionate teasing.

“Dylan…Mr. Johnson spent good money for that box.  Don’t you think it would be a good idea to at least pretend you’re enjoying his generosity?”  He knew he was whining, but somehow, he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“Going corporate on me now, Mac?”  The teasing note turned a bit wry, and Mac held back a wince by sheer will.

“You know that’s not true, D.  It’s just…this crowd’s making me a little antsy, y’know?”

Dylan’s gaze swung away again, looking over the crowd.  The intensity in her eyes caused all but the most ardent admirers to blanch and turn away.  Her smirk broadened.  “I’m comfortable where I am, Mac.  G’wan back up.  I’ll be along in a while.”

“Excuse me, Dylan, but no way.  If you’re so set on staying in the lion’s den, I’m staying with you.  Somebody’s got to watch your back and it might as well be me.”

Shaking her head, Dylan turned her attention back to the court just as the halftime buzzer sounded.  As the players began to file back toward their locker rooms, she leaned back in her seat and opened her program, idly leafing through its glossy pages.

Only when she noticed Mac’s tension reach the breaking point did she deign to look up.  A large group of fans was headed purposefully in her direction and gaining steam as word spread swiftly that “the Goddess” was in their midst.  Mac stood quickly, edging his burly body in front of her for protection.  Though only an inch taller, he was double her weight, and would have made an effective shield if she had let him.

But Dylan Lambert was born knowing how to play the game, and with a smile more manufactured than genuine, she stepped from behind her living wall to greet her adoring public.  Pulling a Sharpie from the inside pocket of her leather trench, she accepted the first program with grace and scrawled her signature before handing it back and accepting the next.

As if from behind a broken dam, the programs, basketballs, trading cards, T-shirts, hats, and the occasional bit of bared flesh came under the heavy caress of her pen.  On and on it went until finally the arena’s security guards filtered down and dispersed the crowd back to their seats.

Heaving out a relieved breath, Mac plopped back down in his seat and took out a handkerchief, mopping his sopping brow.  “God, I hate this shit,” he muttered, half under his breath.

Dylan gave him a fond clap on the shoulder, then turned back to the court as the players filed out from their locker rooms.  Her gaze immediately zeroed in on one young woman from the Huskies who effortlessly caught a rifle-pass from her teammate and made a sweet shot from just past mid-court.  Her teammates cheered as the ball went through the basket without touching the rim, and the young shooter pumped her fist as she ran toward the basket to rebound. 

Dylan smiled.

Mac straightened in his seat when he saw that smile bloom, and squinted against the bright lights in an attempt to see what had generated such an expression.  It was an impossible task.

“What?” he finally asked.

Dylan turned away after a moment, and quickly leafed through her program until she came to the page she wanted.

“Her,” she said, tossing the program on his lap.

Mac looked down to see a fresh-faced, attractive green-eyed blonde woman staring back up at him, the grin on her face an interesting mixture of sweetness and deadly intensity.  As he scanned her statistics, his heart first rose, than sank as her name rang a bell.

“Dylan…”

“She’s the best point guard in the game, Mac.”

“She’s also five foot five!”

“So?  There are at least ten others in the league her height, and they’re doing just fine.”

“Yeah, but the difference is that those teams didn’t have any choice but to draft them!  You’ve got the number one pick and a whole slew of point guards to choose from, Dylan!  Why not Keisha Brown?  She’s got a sweet shot, and she’s four inches taller!”

“Lousy attitude.”

Mac sighed.  “Well, what about one of the Jackson twins?”

“Lazy.”

“Both of them?”

“Both of them.”

“Nissa Tomalin?  You have to admit she’s an outstanding player.”

“Sure she is.  It’s her personal life that’s gone to hell.”

“She beat that rap, Dylan.”

“No.”

“But…”

“I said no, Mac.  Catherine Hodges is the one I want.  She’s got class, she’s got game, and she’ll make the Badgers into winners.”

Mac opened his mouth, then closed it again.  What he had to say next made him feel all kinds of a bigot, but it needed to be said nonetheless.  “Dylan…she’s gay.”

The blue eyes that turned to him had an expression that made his balls shrivel up.  “Who she sleeps with is not my concern, Mac.  What she does on the court is.”

“It might not be your concern, Dylan, but did you forget about the man who owns this team?  The man who is, on issues like this, so far to the right that Pat Robertson looks like a Commie standing next to him?  He’ll never go for this, not in a million years.”

“My orders are to turn this team into a winner.  Without Hodges, that won’t happen.  Period.  Either he wants to win, or he wants to be an asshole.  It’s his choice.”

“Dylan…”

Dylan turned in her seat, facing him directly, clearly annoyed. “Listen, Mac.  You’re the General Manager.  So do your goddamn job and convince him that I’m right on this.”

“How can I do that when I’m not even sure you’re right?!”

Dylan’s long arm flung out wide.  “Look at her, damnit!  Look at her play, then tell me with a straight face that there is anyone out there who even comes close to her.”

Though technically her superior, Mac knew an order when he heard one, and so obediently turned to watch the game in progress.  Not more than a minute later, the diminutive Husky stole ball from her opposing point guard, dribbled the length of the court and fed a no-look pass to her trailing forward that would have made some members of the NBA green with envy.

Mac’s shoulders slumped.  Dylan was right.  Again.  And though he loved her like the daughter he never had, he hated it that she was always right.

Dylan had the good grace not to smirk as Mac conceded his defeat by standing, head lowered.  “I’ll talk to him, D.  God knows I can’t promise anything, but I’ll talk to him.”

Her acceptance was gracious.  “Thank you,” she said, simply and sincerely.

He nodded.  “Now, will you please come up to the box with me??”

Grinning, she rose easily from her seat, twitching her coat into place and stepping into the aisle.  As Mac began to climb the stairs toward the sky boxes, Dylan turned to stare, one last time, down onto the court, eyes narrowing as they tracked Catherine Hodges the length of the court and back.

Her smile bloomed again.

*******

Catherine Frances Hodges, known as Hodge to her teammates, felt herself being carried along in the flow of an overjoyed crowd, heading back to the locker room. The cheers of the audience could still be heard in the background, but they were fading quickly, drowned out by the whoops and hollers of the players and staff making their way down the long, brightly lit hall.

Hodge could only grin like the cat that ate the canary as she toweled her face dry, made wet from the combination of sweat and some liquid that had been dumped on her when her teammates and most of the fans charged the court.

“Phe-fucking-nominal Hodge!” Kellie Wilkes, six feet of exuberant center, easily lifted the much shorter Hodges off the ground and carried her the rest of the way to the locker room.

As they burst through the door, the rest of the team and staff renewed their catcalls and cheering.

“Our hero!” Kellie yelled, spinning her friend around several times before returning her to the floor.

“Oh please,” Hodge grinned, trying to scrub the blush from her face as she waited for the world to stop spinning around her.

“Oh please is right!” Tonya Burns, power forward, stepped into the fray with a hairbrush-cum-microphone in her hand.  “So, Catherine Hodges, your last second shot at the buzzer has taken you team into the history books with an NCAA Championship. What are you gonna do next?”

The small player laughed and looked at her friends standing around her. “I’m going to Disneyland!”

The room roared with laughter as congratulations continued to circulate.  Each person took their turn clapping Hodge on the back, or snapping her rear end with damp towels, to the general hilarity of all.

Though she enjoyed the adulation of her teammates, and the pure adrenaline rush that came with winning the long-coveted title, Hodge found herself wishing for a shower.  She was hot, she was sweaty, and she was sticky, and as soon as she found out who had upended a jug of Gatorade over her head, there would be hell to pay.

Until that time, however, a little alone time in a nice hot shower would do the trick nicely.  Managing to slip away, she headed for the showers and was soon delighting in the feel of the hot water pounding her body and loosening muscles just beginning to stiffen. Bracing herself against the wall, she dropped her head and just let the water beat her neck and shoulders.

“Oh Hodgie…”

She groaned at the singsong sound of her name. Slowly she raised her head, spitting out the water flowing over her face. Opening her eyes she saw Marlie Edgars, one of the assistant coaches, grinning at her with an ‘I’ve got a secret’ expression.

“What’s up, Coach?”

“Did you by any chance notice who was in the crowd tonight?”

“I was kinda busy, Coach.  You know, playing and all?”

“Smart ass.  C’mon, try to guess.”

Grabbing the towel her coach held out to her, Hodge sighed and began drying her hair. “Hmmm about 35,000 of our biggest fans?”

“34, 999 of our biggest fans and,” she paused, grinning from ear to ear, “The Goddess.”

The towel was slowly lowered from her face, and a wide eyed kid looking every bit of twelve stared back at the coach.  “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. She was mid court, a few rows above floor level. Watching you like a hawk, short stuff.”

Hodge snorted. “Right, Dylan Lambert was here scoping out my talent tonight.” Green eyes rolled. “Come on Coach I won the game, why do you have to torture me?”

“I’m serious Hodge. Lambert was here and she was taking notes.”

“You are serious,” Hodge replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

“As a heart attack, kid.”

“Ohhhh shit!”

The coach grinned. “Congratulations, Kitty Cat. You just might be the first to go come draft day.”

So struck was she with the news, Hodge actually let the coach get away with using her detested nickname, which was, in and of itself, a minor miracle.

Edgars’ smile faded slightly, and she snapped her fingers in front of the young player’s face.  “Hodge.  Hodgie.  Anybody home in there?”

“Huh?”  Catherine’s head came up with a snap, and she blinked as if coming out of a daze.

“The press is gonna be coming in soon, kid.  I know you could use the exposure, but I don’t think this is exactly the sort you had in mind.  Maybe some clothes...?”

Hodge visibly drew herself together.  “Uh..yeah.  Right.  Stall them for me, will you?”

“Sure, kid.  And Hodge?”

“Yeah, Coach?”

“You were damn good out there. Way to go.”

Hodge’s smile threatened to split her face.  “Thanks, Coach.”

*****

Dylan tossed her keys on the small table to the right of the door, shifting out of the way as her two dogs, Siegfried and Brunhilde, bounded past and chased each other around the large foyer.  Rolling her eyes at their antics, she stooped to retrieve her mail, idly leafing through the envelopes as she made her way through the parlor and into the rarely used kitchen.

“Junk, junk, a nasty letter from Manny, junk, and more junk.”  Tossing the mail down on the chef’s island, she looked down at the dogs who were sitting at attention, awaiting their nightly meal.  “Haven’t I taught you to kill the mailman yet?”

The large Dobermans stared back at her, heads cocked.  Dylan snorted.  “Some guard dogs you are.”

After filling their bowls with kibble, Dylan exited the kitchen and walked into the large, tastefully appointed living room.  Chrome, glass, and modern art dominated the room, but did little to detract from its almost sterile air.  Grabbing the remote from one chrome and glass end table, she switched on the large flat screen television which stood proudly between the two huge French doors facing the back of her property.

ESPN was replaying the closing seconds of the game she’d just seen, and she paused for a moment to watch Catherine Hodges sink the winning bucket as time expired.  “Oh yeah,” she said softly to herself.  “She’ll do nicely.”

A glance down at the phone caused her smug grin to fade.  “Twenty two messages.  Christ.”  One long finger flipped through the caller ID display, deleting messages and the phone numbers attached to them with impunity.  It was only when she got to the fifth call from Manny Blum, a pain in the ass disguised as her agent, that she pressed the “play” button, wincing as the whining voice came through the small speaker.

“Dylan, this is Manny.  Remember me?  The short, skinny guy who gets paid to represent you?  We need to talk, sweetheart.  Those Nike idiots aren’t getting any younger, and if I show up empty handed one more time, sweets, they’re gonna shove a size 14 golf spike up my ass, understand? C’mon, D, just call me, will ya?”

“Maybe I should call Nike and tell them to make it a size 16,” Dylan remarked to the air as her finger jabbed down on the “erase” button.  She knew she’d eventually have to break down and call the little bastard, but she was deriving too much sadistic pleasure out of watching him twist in the wind to give in to the inevitable just yet.

She scowled at the next number displayed and, just for perversity’s sake, played the message.

“Dylan?  Hi, this is Hunter.”

“Oh goody.  Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dumb as a Rock.”

“I just wanted you to know that I had a great time last night.”

Dylan snorted.  “That makes one of us.”

“And I was wondering if maybe we could do it again sometime.”

“When pigs fly.”

“I have a couple of passes to the premier of my new movie, Death by Desire.  We could get together for that, if you want.  Anyway, I guess that’s it.  Just wanted to tell you I was thinking about you.”

“You can think without a brain.  I’m impressed.”

“Night, Dylan.  Sweet dreams.”

“Maybe, but not of you.”  Shaking her head, she erased the message, chuckling softly to herself.  “God, give me strength.  I’d hate to have to hurt him.”

Brunhilde came bounding into the living room, followed close behind by her brother, and pressed her cold, wet nose into Dylan’s cloth covered belly.  Dylan chuckled, giving both dogs a fond scratch behind the ear.  “Alright, I get the picture. It’s 3 a.m. and you guys need your beauty sleep. Let’s get to bed.”

Upon hearing their favorite word, both dogs raced for the bedroom, leaving their mistress to turn off the television and lights, and follow behind.

Dylan’s bedroom was cool and calming, done up in various shades of blue.  Her king sized bed beckoned invitingly, and she walked over to it, stepping over two sprawled canines as she stripped off her clothes before slipping, naked, between the soft cotton sheets.

Propping herself up on one elbow, she reached for the thick stack of dossiers laid atop her nightstand, and pulled them onto the bed.  Sharp eyes danced across the lines she’d read a thousand times before.  These young women were the best of the best, each one possessing a particular skill which would make her invaluable the team lucky enough to draft her.

And though she read each folio carefully, Dylan’s mind had been made up long before this night.  She flipped to the last folder in the stack and smiled at the earnest green eyes staring back at her.  She quickly scanned the already memorized statistics.

Five foot five, one thirty five, blonde hair, green eyes.  Good health. Average student heading for a degree in elementary education.  Mother, father, nine siblings all alive and living in Bridgeport Connecticut. Father a machinist in a textile plant. Mother a waitress in a greasy spoon.  Supportive family.  She didn’t smoke, she didn’t do drugs, she had no juvenile record.  Good work ethic, glowing reports from all of her coaches.  Her physical abilities spoke for themselves, but it was the person looking back at Dylan from behind those eyes that convinced the young coach that her decision was the right one.

Nodding with a sense of final satisfaction, Dylan closed the folder, replaced it on the stack, and moved the entire mess back onto her nightstand.  A flick of a finger and the room was plunged into blackness.

A moment later, Dylan was asleep.

*******

Hodge did her absolute best to ignore the merciless teasing at her expense. As if it were somehow her fault that that her very own personal hero, Dylan ‘The Goddess’ Lambert had been in the crowd.

“Would you guys just knock it off? I’m sure she was only there as a fan.”

“Riiiight.” Kellie gave her friend a gentle punch to the arm. “Sure she was.”

Tonya nodded her agreement. “Yeah, like Dylan Lambert doesn’t have better things to do than watch college ball. I read last week that she’s dating Hunter Locke.”

The other girls ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’.  Several fanned their faces.

Tonya laughed. “You got that right, girlfriend.  I just saw the promos for his new movie last week and if I had a choice between going to a stupid game and spending time with that wonderful hunk of man flesh, you know which one I’d choose.”

Laughter filled the air.

Hodge just shook her head. “Yeah.” She shouldered her backpack and continued toward the dorm. “Anyhow, I’m sure it was nothing.”

“Okay Miss Denial, this is where we part company. You are planning on going out with us tomorrow night to celebrate, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Kellie. I’ll catch you guys tomorrow.”

She watched as Tonya and Kellie split off and took another path across the quad. Once they were out of sight, she turned to continue her trek to her dorm.

Once in her room she tossed down her backpack and flipped on a small desk lamp. There was just enough light to cast the room in a warm glow and soft shadows. The room was a single she had been fortunate to get when resident registration had screwed up her housing assignment. In order to keep her from having a fit of gargantuan proportions right there in the office, the assistant director had made the executive decision to assign her this single, normally reserved for resident assistants.

The room was neat and very orderly. Everything had a place and everyplace had its thing. Hodge couldn’t stand clutter and this was one of the biggest reasons she was grateful for her single room. She had been forced to share a room with a woman the year before who was a total slob and it had driven her half out of her mind.

Pulling a bottle of water from the small fridge, Hodge flipped on the TV and dropped down to her bed, frowning as the abused springs poked her in places that were most definitely sore. She looked around the room at the pictures and posters hanging on the walls. Photos of her family had a place of honor at the foot of her bed so that her parents and younger siblings were the last things she saw at night and the first things she would see in the morning.

The rest of the room, however, was dominated by pictures and posters of some of her favorite basketball players.  There were a lot of them, from various eras of the game, but her eyes were drawn to what some of her friends lovingly referred to as ‘the shrine’. Pictures, posters, T-shirts and trading cards dominated one entire wall, all bearing the face and form of one Pallas ‘The Goddess’ Lambert. Her favorite was a life-size poster of Lambert standing alone at center court, a faraway gaze in her piercing eyes.  One hand perched on her hip, while the other cradled the basketball tucked under her arm.

To Hodge’s eyes, in that one perfect moment in time, the superstar veneer had faded, leaving a flesh and blood woman standing in her place.  The image had captivated Catherine for years, and for some reason, staring at too long always left her with a strange sense of melancholia.

It was to this image that she spoke, her voice a subdued whisper.

“Regardless of what anybody thinks, I’m glad you got to see me play at least once Goddess. Thanks.”

She turned her attention to the TV where the weatherman was droning on about something she wasn’t particularly interested in, and very slowly her eyes dropped closed.

*******

The sound of a ringing phone shocked Dylan out of a particularly pleasant dream, and she awoke to find herself pinned beneath the heavy weight of a dog who was aiding the wake up process by enthusiastically licking her face.  “Brunhilde!  God!  Dog breath.  Move it, you big oaf, before I turn you into dog puree!”

Voicing her displeasure with a loud groan, Brunhilde absented herself from the bed in a leisurely fashion, allowing Dylan to pick up the phone on its fifth ring.

“Yeah.”

Mac’s smug tones oozed through the phone.  “You owe me, Lambert.  Big.  Not candlelight dinner big. Not front row Pacer’s tickets big.  Diamond watch big.”

Sitting up, Dylan dry scrubbed her face with her hand, lips curling in disgust at the dog saliva coating her palm.  “He go for it?”

“Hook, line, and sinker, my friend.  He wants to see her at pre-draft camp, though.  Up close and personal, so to speak.”

“Why? Isn’t he afraid her gayness might rub off on him?”

“Dylan….”

“Mac, the man’s a bigot.  You know it, and I know it, so let’s stop beating around the bush, alright?”

“Hey, at least he’s willing to listen to reason.  So now all we need to do is find out if she’s planning on going.”

Dylan sighed and shook her head.  “Fine.  Book us a flight for tomorrow morning and we’ll find out.”

Mac’s sigh was louder.  “Dylan, you know I love you, but I do have a wife I haven’t seen in three weeks.”

“Make it three weeks and two days then, Mac.  Your wheeling and dealing got us into this mess, you’re gonna help us get out of it.”

“But….”

“Bye, Mac.  See you tomorrow.”

As she hung up the phone, Dylan looked up at the ceiling, praying for strength.  Then she pushed herself out of bed, scowled down at the two oh so innocent faces staring back up at her, and headed for the shower to begin what was left of the day.

*******

The Rusty Bucket was a small, hole-in-the-wall tavern well known to the students of UCONN.  Though it was a bit of a hike from the main campus, it had the reputation for being a little lax when it came to checking ID’s, and so was a hit with the underage crowd.

The interior was typical for a college dive.  Dim and smoky, it had a long, badly abused bar, stools bleeding foam stuffing from mortal wounds, and a smattering of splintered and sticky tables set much too close together.  The tiny dance floor was fronted by an even tinier stage from which local talent was invited to do its best to drive paying customers away.

This night, the local college sensation, Laying Rubber, was pounding out the atonal chords and drum riffs that passed for music among the eager young crowd.  Their hit song “My Girlfriend is a Blow-Up Doll” was a particular favorite, and they played it so often that the bartender seriously considered rupturing his eardrums with his own ice-pick just so he wouldn’t have to hear it anymore.

All in all, it was the perfect place for Hodge, her friends, and their fans to let their hair down, celebrate their victory, and break the half-year long alcohol ban imposed upon them by their coaches.

Which was probably why, though the evening was scarcely two hours young, most of the young women were three sheets to the wind, and showing no signs of stopping.

Hodge never had been much of a drinker.  She didn’t hold her liquor well, and there were goddesses other than the porcelain one that she’d much rather worship.  Still, she figured that it wasn’t every day that a gal got to sink the winning basket in a championship game, and since it had happened to her, she figured such an event deserved a celebration.

She didn’t really know when she’d switched from beer to rum, nor exactly when the rum suddenly gained the taste and consistency of a jello shooter, but sometimes it was just best to go with the flow and refrain from asking questions whose answers were better off unknown.

Looking up from her latest shot, she noticed, for the first time, that she was alone at the table.  Her gaze swung ponderously toward the dance floor where Kellie, Tonya and the rest of her friends were pressed up against a number of willing males in a pre-mating ritual they called “dancing”.

So intent was she in the drunken study of her friends that she nearly launched herself into orbit when a warm hand came down gently on her shoulder.

“Who?  Wha--?” she blubbered, turning her head to the left in time to spy a particularly cute redhead staring down at her, a look of adoration in her eyes.

“Is this seat taken?” Redhead breathed.

Before Hodge could even work her brain around a particular answer, the young woman lowered herself down into the seat next to the basketball player and leaned forward so that their bodies were almost touching.

“Do I know you?” Hodge found herself asking a pair of very pert breasts.  Normally, she wasn’t quite so rude, but her eyes seemed to have frozen in that particular spot.  Maybe it was some strange side effect of the alcohol she’d been consuming.  God only knew what they put in jello shooters anyway.

“Not yet, but you could if you wanted to.” The redhead flashed a sexy smile and slid a little closer. “Great game by the way. I’ve never missed a game when you’re playing.”

Finally able to drag her gaze up to a pair of twinkling gray eyes, Hodge smiled. “Basketball fan huh?”

“Not particularly. More of a Cat Hodges fan.”

The sober part of her brain looked on in horror at the developing situation.  Though hardly a prude, she’d also never been the type to outwardly flirt with women, especially in straight bars.  Her libido, however, aided by the alcohol, was firmly in control of the rest of her.  “A fan, huh?”

“Oh yes.  A very…big…fan.”  Hodge’s eyes nearly popped out of her head when the redhead put a hand on her knee and slowly drew it upward.  “Who would love the opportunity to pay you back for the hours of enjoyment you’ve given me.”

In a last ditch effort to bring her suddenly rebellious body back under control, Hodge pushed back and stood up, not even noticing as her chair toppled over backwards the moment it was free of her weight.  “Air!” she squeaked.  “I need air.”

With a tiger’s smile, the redhead stood and took Hodge’s hand.  “What a wonderful idea.  Let’s take a walk.”

Hodge looked desperately over her shoulder, but her friends were too busy searching for tonsil scars on their latest dates-du-jour to pay her any mind at all.

Then the redhead slid a sly thumb across Hodge’s sensitive palm, and she pretty much stopped thinking for good.

Hodge wasn’t sure how they ended up back at her dorm room, but by then she’d given up asking those sorts of questions. Her body craved what the redhead was offering and gleefully pounded the little voice of Catholic guilt in her head into silent submission.

Managing to get her key into the lock on the third try, she pushed the door open and made a gallant gesture with her hand to allow her date to enter first.  Then she dropped her ‘Do Not Disturb, upon penalty of death’ sign on the knob and closed the door.

Turning, she stripped off her jacket and let it drop into a heap on the floor. “So Red, whaddya think?”

“I think I should help you get the rest of those clothes off so I can see that delicious body up close and personally.”

“Sounds good to me.” Hodge had a stupid grin on her face as she walked to the bed.

*****

The ringing phone went through Hodge’s head like a dentist’s drill.  She would have covered her ears had her hands not been trapped beneath….something.  The ring came again, and she dragged her eyes open, then shut them immediately as the light streaming through the window set what was left of her brain on fire.

“Oh god, just kill me now,” she mumbled, finally yanking her hands free, and managing to reach the phone just as it stopped its infernal jangling.

Her eyes slitted open, carefully this time.  She froze as it became readily apparent that the “something” which had trapped her hands was a very warm, very naked female body pressed tightly against her.

“Ohhh shit,” she breathed, lifting the sheet to find that she was as naked as her guest.  “Oh shit. Oh shit.  Oh shit.”

She looked around her room, trying not to turn her head too much, and found various articles of clothing strewn about. Very briefly she wondered if that was her bra hanging off the mini basketball hoop over the bathroom door.

The phone rang again.  “What!” she growled into the mouthpiece, and immediately regretted it.  Her head spun from the sound of her own voice.

The mocking tones of the dorm’s RA, Cookie Reese, filtered through the handset, adding nausea to the list of complaints Hodge’s body was voicing.  “Hate to disturb you and your ‘date’, Kitty.”

“Don’t call me that.”

A snicker.  “There some guy named Mac here to see you.”

Hodge looked down at her bed mate, who was finally coming awake. “Your boyfriend no doubt, here to kick my ass.”

Another snicker.  “Wrong, sweetie.  This guy says he’s from some basketball team or something.”

She sat up ramrod straight, her face paling to the color of curdled milk.  “What?!?!?”

Cookie heaved a dramatic sigh.  “For goodness’ sake, Kitty, were you so hot to get laid last night that you didn’t listen to the message I left you?  I told you he would be here this morning.”

Slowly turning her head, Hodge looked down at the phone whose red message indicator was flashing urgently.  “Ohhhh shit.”

“Better get some clothes on, love.  I’m sending him down right now.”

Click.

Hodge stared at the phone as if it had suddenly grown fangs, then slammed it down.  “Shit!  Shit!  Get up!  Get up now!”

Jumping out of bed, Hodge grabbed the tangled sheets and pulled.  The redhead tumbled to the floor with a startled squawk.  Hodge ran around the room gathering up her guest’s clothing, then pulled the indignant young woman up by her arm and shoved the bundle into her chest. 

“Closet!  Now!!”

“What?!?”

“Get in the closet and don’t make a sound till I tell you it’s ok.”

Turning away without waiting for an answer, Hodge grabbed her own clothes and started shoving her limbs into them, almost tripping herself as she tried to stuff two legs into the same hole.  “Shit!”

Finally she managed to dress herself in wrinkled clothes that stank of smoke and stale beer.  Grabbing her brush, she pulled it through the tangled mess of her hair, then gave up and pulled it behind her head in a ponytail.  She stiffened as she glanced quickly into the mirror and spied the redhead, still naked, and still staring at her, bewildered.

A knock on the door sounded a split second later.

“Just a minute!” she managed to get out in a voice that sounded more like a frog’s dying croak than anything else.

Turning on her heel, she grabbed her date’s clothing bundle and shook out the dress she’d been wearing the night before.  “Put your arms up.”

“What?”

“Arms up!  Now!”

Still bewildered, the young woman did as she was told, and Hodge yanked the material down over her arms and head.  “There.  No go sit down at my desk and pretend you’re studying or something.”

“Cat….”

“Please, please do as I say.  Please!”

The knock sounded again.

Praying she’d somehow wake up from this nightmare she was trapped in, Hodge walked over to the door, twisted the lock, and pulled it open. 

A huge man filled the open space, staring down at her with a polite smile on his face.  “Catherine Hodges?”

“Um…yes.  Yes, that’s me.  Can I help you?”

“My name is Mac MacKenzie.  I’m with the Birmingham Badgers.”  His voice trailed off as he looked into the disheveled room.  “Have I come at a bad time?  Your Resident Assistant told me you’d be available this morning.”

“Oh.  No…no….you’re fine.  We were just…studying.”  She looked over her shoulder at the redhead, who hadn’t moved an inch.  “Right….?”

“Phyllis.”

“Phyllis, right.”

There was a sick smile on her face as she turned back to the door.  “We have finals next week.”

Mac looked at her doubtfully.  “I can come another time, if….”

“No!  No, please, it’s fine.  Phyllis was just leaving.  Weren’t you, Phyllis.”

Finally, the redhead moved from her spot.  “Yes, that’s right.  Just leaving.  We’re all through…studying…for today.”  Walking forward, she made sure to brush by the sweating Hodge.  “Give me a call later if you want to study some more, ok?”

“Yeah.  Sure.  Fine.  Just…go now, ok?”

“My pleasure.”

Mac stepped out of the way, and Phyllis left, but not before bestowing a lewd wink on Hodge.

“Please,” Hodge said sickly, “come in.” 

Hodge pulled the door wider and moved aside as Mac ducked into the room.  Once he had fully entered, she swung the door closed, only to find its forward progress halted halfway.  Angered at the thought that her pushy bed mate had returned to embarrass her further, she swung around the door, ready to raise hell.

And stopped dead in her tracks.

Pallas Dylan Lambert stood in the doorway like a vision from a fevered dream.  Wearing black slacks, a crisply starched white shirt, and her everpresent black leather trench coat, her glittering eyes were the only points of color to be seen.

Those eyes flicked past the frozen young woman to where Mac was standing, trying to cover his grin with the back of his hand.  Dylan returned her gaze to Hodge.  An elegant eyebrow rose.

“May I come in?”

If Hodge hadn’t been holding onto the door, she would have collapsed into an undignified, boneless heap on the floor.  This is just a dream.  It has to be.  Because nowhere in any of Father McCarthy’s homilies did I ever hear him say that someone can be sent to heaven and hell at the same time.

Even though she knew it wasn’t true, just the possibility that all this might be the aftereffect of a night of boozing gave her the strength to straighten up and release the door.  She even managed a smile.

“Yes, please come in.”  Her voice sounded human.  This was good.

Ducking her head slightly, Dylan entered the room, quickly scanning the small space as she did so.  Other than the disheveled bed, which could be excused, the room was neat and well ordered, which told her a great deal about the woman living there.

Clearing his throat, Mac stepped to the side, presenting Dylan with an eyeful of…herself.  Her image covered every inch of available space on the large wall.  The pictures captured every stage of her playing career, from her high school days through to the Olympics.  There was even her rookie card, autographed and released in such limited quantities that she’d heard it had become a rather valuable collector's piece.

She looked back over her shoulder to see a deer caught in the headlights staring back at her.  Dylan couldn’t help but smile.

“I’m impressed.”

Hodge found it hard to talk through the dryness in her throat.  “I…you….”  She sighed.  “You’re my favorite player,” she finally admitted in a small voice, wondering if it was physically possible to die from embarrassment.

Dylan decided to give the young woman a break.  It was quite obvious that somehow the communications had crossed somewhere along the line and she hadn’t been expecting them.  Dylan also had a hunch that whatever had happened in this room before they’d entered, it wasn’t something that occurred on a regular basis.

Decision made, Dylan crossed to the desk, pulled out the chair, and slid gracefully down into the seat so as to make herself less imposing to the much smaller Catherine.  “I watched you play on Thursday.  You’re very good.”

Dylan thought, privately, that Catherine’s blush was rather charming, but elected to keep that particular bit of information to herself.

“Thank you,” Hodge replied, forcing herself to relax.  “It was a lot of fun.”

Dylan smiled.  “Fun. I seem to remember that feeling.”

Hodge cocked her head.  “Basketball isn’t fun for you anymore?”

“It can be,” Dylan replied smoothly.  “It’s also a good deal of work.  Particularly when you’re striving for a championship.”

“Yes, I guess it would be.”

The room fell silent for a moment.  Mac decided to spur the conversation along.  “We were wondering if you were planning on attending pre-draft came in Minneapolis this year.”

Hodge looked startled.  “Well, yes, I was planning on going.  Why?  Is something wrong?”

Mac held up his hands.  “No, nothing’s wrong.  It’s just…as Dylan’s already mentioned, you were pretty impressive in that game against the Vols.  Pre-draft camp will give us, and everyone else, a chance to evaluate your skills under many different sets of circumstances.”

Hodge nodded.  Mac wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t know already.

“Not everyone participates, though,” Dylan continued.  “Some don’t want to risk a chance of injury.  Others believe that their selection is a foregone conclusion.”

“Sort of like an actor who thinks he’s too good to audition for a part?” Hodge asked.

“Something like that, yes,” Dylan replied, grinning.

“Well, pardon me for saying so, but that just doesn’t make much sense.”  Forgetting for a moment exactly who she was talking to, Hodge became much more animated as her thoughts received free rein.  “I mean, maybe it would if we were all professional superstars or something, but we’re not.  We’re just a bunch of college kids looking for a job, just like everyone else.  I mean, if I didn’t have basketball and had to get by on my teaching degree, I really don’t think I’d just walk into some elementary school somewhere and say ‘Hire me.  I’m good.’”

Mac and Dylan looked at one another and broke out in identical grins.  The young woman’s enthusiasm and openness were definitely points in her favor.

Realizing she’d just gone on a tear, Catherine pulled up short, and her blush appeared again.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to…um….”

Mac laughed.  “That’s quite alright, Catherine.  As you probably already guessed, one of the reasons we’re here is to get to know a little bit about you as a person.  The woman behind the basketball player, in other words.”

Hodge’s face fell.  “Oh.  I guess I didn’t do so well in that department,” she said, more to herself than to her two visitors.

Mac shot Dylan a “this one’s all yours” look.  Dylan rolled her eyes and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.  “That’s not necessarily true.”

Hodge’s normally vibrant eyes were dull and clouded.  “No?  From where I’m standing it is.  I mean, a professional basketball team goes out of its way to send its head coach—who also happens to be somewhat of an idol of mine—and its general manager here to evaluate my personality.  And here I am in yesterday’s clothes, probably stinking like stale smoke and cheap booze, caught in my room with a woman whose name I don’t even know.  If this doesn’t go down in the record books as the worst first impression in history, I’m not sure what will.”

Dylan chuckled.  “Well, I’ll admit that it isn’t the best one you could have made, no.  But even under an enormous amount of pressure, you’ve managed to acquit yourself surprisingly well.  And that’s the kind of player we’re looking for.  Someone who doesn’t crumble when the going gets tough.  That kind of person won’t lead a team to the championship.”

Hodge stared at her, wide-eyed.

“Besides, I get the impression that whatever happened here wasn’t a routine thing.”

Hodge couldn’t help but laugh a little.  “You’ve got that right.”

Dylan’s gaze softened, as did her tone.  “We all make mistakes.  It’s how we learn.  How you respond to those mistakes is what counts with me.  And frankly, I think you responded pretty well.”

“Really?”  The awe was back in Hodge’s voice, but this time, she didn’t feel embarrassed.

Dylan smiled.  “Really.”  Shooting a quick glance to Mac, she stood.  “We’ll see you at pre-draft camp, then?”

A radiant grin lit Hodge’s face.  “You bet!”

Reaching out, Dylan gently clasped Hodge’s hand in her own.  “It was very nice to have met you, Catherine.  Thanks for letting us talk to you.”

Reveling in the warmth of the large hand, Hodge looked up and was caught in the mesmerizing blue of Dylan’s eyes.  “No,” she breathed.  “Thank you.”

With a final nod, Dylan released the handclasp, and with a look, collected Mac.  A moment later, both were gone, leaving a completely stunned Catherine Hodges staring at the now closed door and cradling her hand against her chest.

*******

Mac managed to make it to the rental car before he collapsed, laughing so hard tears sprung into his eyes.  Dylan patted him companionably on the back as choked out the last of his hysteria.

“Oh my god,” he wheezed. “Did you see the look on her face when she opened the door?”  The memory sent him off into another gale of laughter. 

Dylan could only roll her eyes and wait out the storm.

When Mac was finally able to loosen his cramped stomach muscles enough to lean back in the seat, he wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and turned to Dylan.  “You know, if Johnson was with us, that would have been the end of any dream you might have had of drafting her.”

“Johnson isn’t with us, and he’s not gonna hear about this.  Ever.”

Mac nodded.  “Not from me.  Mum’s the word.”  Somehow, that set off another laughing spell.

Shaking her head, Dylan started the car and shifted into reverse.  “Let’s just get the hell out of here before you have a stroke.”

And so they went.

*******

Hodge stood in the sidelines with the rest of the women chosen to show what they could do in hopes of finding a spot with the Birmingham Badgers or one of the other pro teams present.

The camp was in its third day, and Hodge was looking forward to actually playing some basketball.  The previous days had had the young women poked, pricked and prodded, weighed and measured, and generally treated like prime horseflesh.  She’d run windsprints till it felt as if her lungs were going to exit through her ears, covered two miles in a very respectable time, and had shown off her vertical leaping abilities like some sort of demented kangaroo.

Today was the day to show what she could do on the court, and she was awaiting it with eager anticipation. She made sure to check everyone out, sizing up the competition. Seven other point guards had been invited to attend the pre-draft camp, including Hodges’ nemesis, Keisha Brown of the Stanford Cardinal.  Topping Hodge in height, weight and attitude, Keisha was a woman who believed her own hype.  And, early in the season when Brown was selected by most to go first in the draft, that hype seemed well founded.

Hodge’s late stretch run, however, cast what was once a certainty into the deep shadows of doubt.

Moving a bit away from the rest, Hodge began her warm up routine, every now and then casting what she hoped were covert glances toward the bench area, where Dylan and Mac stood.  Dylan appeared to be in full “head coach” mode; focused and intent on the job at hand. 

Which was fine with Hodge, since she knew from previous experience that if their glances so much as crossed, she’d be reduced to a blushing schoolgirl once again.  And that wouldn’t do at all. After their near disastrous and completely embarrassing first meeting she decided that it was absolutely imperative that she concentrate entirely on the tryout. She had to prove to The Goddess that her decision to ask her to compete was not a bad one.

Of course, she had made a solemn vow never to be caught in a situation like that again. Even if it meant given up women forever. Well, maybe forever was a bit of a stretch, but at least until Pallas Dylan Lambert and the Birmingham Badgers were out of her life.

Decision made, Hodge hit her warm up routine with gusto, stopping only when she felt a presence looming over her.  She straightened, looking up into the dark, flashing eyes of Keisha Brown.

“I seen you eyeballing Lambert over there, shorty.  Just keep lookin’, girl, cause that’s the closest you’re ever gonna get.”

Hodge easily stood her ground.  “Think so, huh?”

Brown beamed.  “Oh, honey, I know so.”  With that, Brown moved swiftly by, making sure to slam Hodge hard with her shoulder as she passed.

The whistle blew, and the camp’s directors filed out onto the court, basketballs in hand.

“Okay ladies, listen up. Now’s your chance to show our esteemed guests what you’re really made of.”

Hearty cheering echoed through the gymnasium.

“First up are shooting drills.  When I call your name, go to the ball racks and start shooting. One shot per rack. The whistle will tell you when time’s up.  Good luck.  Brown!  You’re up.”

Hodge took in a deep breath to settle the butterflies in her stomach.  Looking around, she could see other women wiping sweating palms on their shorts and shifting nervously foot to foot, anxious to prove their worth to the coaches.  Perversely, this made the butterflies in her own stomach vanish entirely.

When her turn came, Hodge trotted up to the first rack and began shooting without an ounce of nervousness.

*******

Dylan took a seat courtside, rather than in the benches set aside for the staff members. She wanted to watch the women play, not sit around and talk about what color new Mercedes some half-assed coach had just bought with a bonus they didn’t deserve. She was here to do a job, not schmooze and eat the free buffet.

The recruiting class was a good one, chock full of talent at all positions.  While Dylan carefully scrutinized each woman, right down to her shoe size, she made no bones about the fact that one player in particular drew her interest.

“So that’s Super Girl, huh?”

Dylan had the good sense to roll her eyes and keep her groan to herself before she turned around to face Horace Johnson, the owner of the Badgers.  A shade under six feet tall, he fashioned himself a JR Ewing type, right down to the Stetson.  His protuberant belly hung listlessly over his belt, and his suit jacket was a size too small.  The cologne he all but bathed in was enough to raise the dead, and Dylan found herself stifling a sneeze.

“That’s her.”

“She’s short.” Johnson observed, past the toothpick he was chewing because his damn doctor told him to quit smoking.

“She compensates for that with her abilities.”

“She’s young.” He plucked the toothpick from his mouth and made a sucking noise through his teeth that made Dylan want to slap him.

“No younger than anyone else here, and older than a few.”

“She’s queer.

Dylan dropped her head then looked back up at the man, sighing softly before speaking. “She’s gay. And that has no impact on her ability to play basketball.”

“Don’t like queers.”

“I don’t imagine they’re real fond of you either.” Dylan mumbled.

“What?”

“I said it shouldn’t matter. Her talent is amazing and if you want me to give you a winning team, you’ll let me draft her.”

Squinting his beady, close-set eyes, Johnson made a show of examining the young woman in question.

“Make you a deal, then.”

Dylan tried not to look annoyed. “What?”

“I’ll let you draft the little Sodomite on two conditions.”

Dylan looked over to Mac, who was standing out of the line of fire.  Mac shrugged.  Dylan glared at him, then returned her attention to the owner. “And they are?”

“First, you’re completely responsible for her behavior. I don’t want her caught in some queer nightclub and I sure as hell don’t want her marching in any gay pride parades.”

“And number two?”

“I want you to go out with Hunter Locke again. This team gets damn fine publicity when you two go out together.”

Dylan's eyes narrowed dangerously.  "Since when did I become your corporate whore, Horace?" 

The toothpick rolled again.  "Why, since the day you signed my contract, darlin.  You want that queer little filly in your stable, you gotta put out.  Got to give me what I need."

"And a championship isn't enough for you?"

Johnson hooked his thumbs through his belt and pretended to think on it.  "Nope.  Guess it isn't."

As he turned to her, her fists closed against the urge to slap that smirk off his face.

"So, we got a deal?"

Dylan gritted her teeth.  "Fine."

Johnson sniffed, trying to give a superior air that he didn’t have. It was all Dylan could do to keep from quitting her job, punching him in the nose and ramming her booted foot up his ass, not necessarily in that order.

She was very relieved when he jammed his toothpick back in his mouth left the gym, in search of his free meal.

“Asshole.” She mumbled as she turned her attention back to the court.

Mac quietly slid up next to her. “Well, that went well, huh?”

Dylan gave him a look hot enough to smelt metal.

“Or not,” Mac replied, swallowing hard and scratching the back of his neck.  “I’m…just gonna….” His voice trailed off as he gestured weakly toward the stands where the others were sitting.

“You do that.”

*******

Hodge listened carefully as one of the camp directors explained the three-on-three drill.  The large group had been split into teams of three, two forwards and a guard.  They’d play a half court game to eleven points, one point per basket.  Four games would go on simultaneously on the two courts.

When the director called out the names for the first two teams, Keisha Brown smirked.  “You and me, shorty.  You and me.  You’re goin’ down, Kitty Cat.”

Hodge didn’t let the use of her nickname bother her.  Nor did she so much as flinch when Brown rifled the ball into her belly from less than three feet away.  Instead, she grinned, gathered her teammates around her, and planned a strategy for the game.

The two teams were very evenly matched, and after twenty minutes, the score was tied, 10 – 10.  Keisha, ball in hand, smirked at Hodge.  “Take a look at this face, baby.  It’s gonna be famous.”

The whistle blew, and Brown shot a pass over Hodge’s head to one of her forwards.  Hodge’s teammates closed quickly, guarding against an easy shot.  The forward passed the ball back to Brown, who dribbled it easily, still smirking.

Faking to her left, Brown went right with a lazy, over-confident stride.  Hodge waited, backing slowly up and watching the ball like a hawk.  Then, using a quickness startling to anyone who didn’t know her well, her left hand darted out and tipped the ball away.  Stepping easily around Brown, she gained possession of the ball and brought it back to half court. 

A nod, and her teammates went into motion.  As Brown, teeth grit tight in anger, came up to guard, Hodge dribbled once, then passed to the forward cutting across the top of the key.  The forward stopped, turned, and shot, but the ball bounced off the rim and into an opposing player’s hands.

Brown had the ball again at half court, her grin firmly back in place.  “Let’s see if you can do that again, Kitten.”

Brown had one of the fastest first steps in the game, and this time she made it count, blowing by Hodge, who was forced to turn and run.  A lane was cleared, and Brown dribbled forward, headed into the paint for what looked to be an easy, game winning lay-up.

Hodge slid into place beneath the basket, and froze.  Brown charged into her, knocking her to the ground hard as she shot.

The whistle blew.  “Charging!  No basket.”

Angered beyond reason, Brown slammed her foot into Hodge’s chest.  “Stay down, bitch!”

Hodge rolled to her feet, eyes blazing green fury as she tried to get her wind back.  Her arms were immediately grabbed from behind by one of her teammates.  Brown was grabbed in a similar manner as the referee stepped in between them, blowing her whistle repeatedly.

“Go home and eat out your girlfriend, dyke!” Brown shouted, struggling to break free from the arms holding her.

Dylan flew over the railing dividing the stands from the court, the sounds of her boot heels slamming on the varnished wood heard even above the yelling of the crowd. 

“Grab your things and go, Keisha!” the ref snarled, grabbing the young woman by the front of her jersey.  “You’re outta here!”

“You can’t kick me out!  You can’t fuckin kick me out!!”

Two of the staff grabbed the young woman’s arms and began leading her off of the court.

“Wait!” Hodge said, yanking herself free of her own set of restraining hands.

The referee looked at her.

“It’s alright.  Things just got a little heated, but it’s okay.”  She paused, looking toward Dylan, who slowed to a stop some feet away.  “Please.  Let her stay.”

“We can’t do that, Cat,” the referee said, not unkindly.  “She broke the rules.  She needs to go.”

“Please,” Hodge said softly, still looking at Dylan.  “Give her a second chance.”

Dylan stared into Hodge’s eyes for a very long moment.  The gymnasium was silent.

Finally, Dylan looked over to the ref, and gave a slight nod.  The referee sighed.  “Fine.  Go to the showers and cool off, Keisha.  You can come back tomorrow, but you’re done for today.”

Hodge smiled.  “Thank you,” she mouthed to Dylan, who gave her a short nod before turning and leaving the court.

*******

Hodge stepped out of the shower and into the empty locker room, gingerly toweling her hair.  There was a lump the size of an egg on the back of her head and it throbbed like a rotting tooth.  As she passed by a mirror, she stopped and looked at herself.  A large bruise was forming between her breasts.  She winced.

“Way to go, Cat,” she whispered to her reflection.  “One day in front of the important folks, and you look like you’ve been through a war.  But hey!  At least you didn’t break anything vital.”  She hissed as her towel touched the knot in her head.  “I hope.”

Chuckling to herself, she toweled dry as best she could, and pulled on her street clothes.  Stuffing her uniform into her duffel, she slung it over her shoulder and headed for the darkened gymnasium.

She felt another’s presence before she saw it, and stiffened when Keisha Brown came into view.  Brown moved forward until there was less than a foot separating them.

“Don’t think this squares things between us, bitch,” Brown hissed.  “You’re just takin’ longer to dig your own grave, that’s all.  I’ll get drafted first whether I get kicked out of here or not.  Remember that.”

“Why are you doing this?” Hodge asked, careful not to show her discomfort.

“Because I’m the best.  You get that?  The best, and no two bit wannabe player is gonna take that away from me.”

Hodge held in a groan of pain as Brown pushed a hand against her bruised chest.

“I can take you down anytime I want to, Kitty Cat.  Anytime I want to.”

“Think you can take me down?”

Both women started at the deep, smooth voice that floated in from the shadows.

Brown spun, and she gasped as she stared up into the flickering blue eyes of a woman who topped her by over eight inches.  “C-Coach Lambert!”

“You didn’t answer my question, Keisha.  You wanna take me down?”  A smile curled Dylan’s lips. 

The kind that made all the spit in Brown’s mouth dry up. “I-we-we wuz just talkin’, that’s all.”

“Is that so.”

“Yeah,” Brown replied, laughing weakly.  “Honest.”

Dylan stepped fully into the meager light cast by the locker room, causing Brown to shrink back in fear.  “A liar and a bully.  Nice.  I’m sure some team is gonna consider themselves real lucky to get such a prize.”

“But…”

“Get outta here, Brown.  Now.”

As Keisha scampered away, Dylan looked Hodge carefully over.  “You alright?”

“Yes,” Hodge replied.  “Just wasn’t meant to be my lucky day, I guess.”

The corner of Dylan’s mouth turned up.  “Oh, I don’t know about that.  You managed to set a record in the shoot around, won all your three-on-three games, and talked me into breaking the rules and letting that little thug stay on.  All in all, not a bad showing.”

Hodge laughed, then stopped abruptly, one hand going to her head while the other covered her chest.  “Ow.”

Dylan looked down at her, concerned.  “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah.  The trainer looked me over.  I’m just a little bruised.  I think I’ll live, though.”

“Alright.  Are you headed back to the hotel?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll walk you to your car then.  C’mon.”

Dylan shortened her strides so that her smaller companion could keep up with her as they walked through the gym and into the chilly Minneapolis night.  Hodge stumbled as they stepped from the sidewalk onto the paved parking lot, but quickly righted herself.  Her head spun from the effort.

“Dizzy?”

Hodge nodded.  “Just a little, when I tripped.  It’s okay now, though.”

“Let’s not take any chances.  I’ll drive you back to the hotel, alright?”

“No, no,” Hodge demurred.  “I’m fine.  Really.”

“And I’m driving you to the hotel.  You can get a ride back with one of the players in the morning.”

Hodge really couldn’t do anything at that point but give in.  “Ok,” she said simply, allowing Dylan to lead her to the rental parked close by.

*******

The ride to the hotel was made in silence.  Dylan, by nature, wasn’t much of a conversationalist.  And Hodge, who was, found that the close presence of the woman she idolized managed to wither away every single thought in her head.

Unable to speak, Hodge contented herself with catching glimpses of Dylan’s chiseled profile as the car moved in and out of bars of light created by the passing streetlamps.  Hodge had always thought her incredibly beautiful—who wouldn’t?—but in person this was even more true.  Dylan had a charisma that cameras captured well, but cameras couldn’t hold a candle to seeing her in real life.  She had a physical presence that went far beyond her unusual height or her looks.  It rolled off of her in waves, and Hodge was quite happy to be caught in the undertow.

Dylan was quite aware of the scrutiny.  It had been a part of her life for so many years, she all but forgot what it was like not to be seen as if from under a microscope’s lens.  She’d learned very early that to have any type of privacy at all, she would have to hide within the glass bubble of her own popularity.  It was a lesson she learned well.

The hotel came quickly into view, and Dylan found a parking space very near the front.  Shutting down the engine, she exited the rental and popped the trunk, withdrawing Hodge’s duffle and handing it to her.  Together, the two women walked into the nearly empty lobby.

The doors to the elevators opened as if by magic, and they entered, pressing the buttons for their respective floors.  When the doors opened on five, Hodge turned to Dylan.  “Well, this is where I get off.  Thanks…for helping me out back there.  And for making sure I was alright.”

Dylan smiled at the slight blush that colored Hodge’s cheeks.  “You’re welcome.”

“Well…I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“You will.  Be sure to ice yourself down, or those bruises will get worse.”

“Don’t worry.  I will.”  There was an awkward pause.  “Well…goodnight, Coach Lambert.”

“Goodnight, Catherine.  Sleep well.”

******

Dylan walked into her room to see Mac lounging in her living area, in his skivvies, his feet propped up on the table and a bottle of beer in his hand.  The television was tuned to a decades old pro game on ESPN Classic, and the door that connected their adjoining suites was wide open.

He saluted her with his beer as she passed. 

“How nice of you to make yourself at home, Mac.”

Mac chuckled.  “Reception’s better in here.”

Snorting at the lie, Dylan removed her coat and draped it over the ottoman before stepping into the bathroom to change.

“Everything alright with the kid?”

“She’s twenty two, Mac.  Hardly a ‘kid’.”

“You know what I mean.  Is she alright?”

“She’s fine,” Dylan replied, walking back into the room in her bra and briefs, causing Mac to choke on his beer.

“Jesus, D!  You wanna warn a guy before you do that!  You trying to give me a heart attack or something?”

Dylan rolled her eyes.  “You’ve seen me in a whole lot less than this.”

“Yeah, but at least I was prepared for it!  God!”

Walking over to her suitcase, she pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants.  “Better?”

Mac looks up at the long, lean, muscled form outlined by the snug clothing.  “Not much,” he choked, earning him a swat to the arm.

Dylan eased herself down on the couch next to Mac, propped her feet up, and caged a swig of his beer before handing the bottle back.  “Now, television reception aside, why are you darkening my doorstep at this late hour?”

Mac shrugged.  “Just wanted to see how the ki—I mean Ms. Hodges was doing.”

“Couple bruises, a knot on the head, but otherwise, alright.  Our little thug was sniffing around again.”

“Oooh,” Mac replied, wincing in sympathy.  “Did you call the janitors in to hose off the blood spot you turned her into?”

“Nah.  She figured it was in her own best interests to take a hike.”

Mac snickered.  “Knew there was a brain in there somewhere.  I’m glad to know Hodges is ok.”

Dylan grinned. “Growing on you, is she?”

“She’s alright,” Mac allowed.  Putting his beer on the table, he shifted to face her, his expression suddenly serious.  “What are you going to do about Johnson?”

“I’ll deal with him.  In my own way.”

“But what about Hodges?  I mean, I get the impression that she’s not exactly in the closet.  How’s she going to take to this?”

“I’m going to have a talk with her before draft day.  Every team’s contracts have the same morality clause.  Hers won’t be any different.  We’ll deal with it then.”

“I know you will.”

They settled into a comfortable silence, then, and watched television until they were both yawning.  Mac took himself off to his own room, and Dylan slid beneath the covers, asleep almost as soon as she hit the pillow.

*******

It was a week later, and Hodge was curled up in her blankets, feeling warm and safe and very relaxed. She could smell bacon and eggs and fresh coffee, and her stomach growled, reminding her how good it was to be home.

She opened her eyes to find the familiar surroundings of her own bedroom, or at least what had been her bedroom before she moved away to college. Now it was the haven of her oldest brother, who had easily given it up to her for the few weeks she’d be staying.  The bedroom she’d remembered had morphed into that of a typical teenage boy, a little messy, and strewn with posters of the latest rock stars and bikini clad sex kittens.  But it was still home, and that was all that mattered.

Outside, she could hear the boisterous shouts of her brothers as they pursued their favorite Saturday morning pastime—basketball.

Rolling out of bed, she moved to the window and lifted it, sticking her head out to confirm that there was a mean game of Horse going on below her. “Morning guys.”

“Hey Kitty Cat!” Her father stopped in mid shot to greet her.

She smiled; the only person on the planet who could get away with that nickname was her dad.

Her bothers all joined in yelling at her, encouraging her to come down and play ball with them.

“In a little bit. I need coffee.”

“You shouldn’t drink coffee, big sister, it’ll stunt your growth.” her oldest brother, Michael called up as he stole the ball from his father.

“Don’t give up your day job, Mike,” was her droll reply as she closed the window and turned to grab her clothes.

Once dressed, she headed downstairs to the kitchen, drawn on by the savory scents of her mother’s cooking. As soon as she entered the room, her mother pressed a steaming cup of coffee in her hand, and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

“Good morning sweetheart.”

“Morning Mom.”

“Did you sleep well?” the older woman asked as she went back to preparing breakfast for her troop.

“Like a rock,” she replied, taking a long sip of coffee.  “Mm. This is good.”

She slid into her seat at the table, and immediately noticed the morning paper, which was opened to the employment page.  Her mother had obviously been hard at work.  Various teaching jobs were circled in bright red ink.  With a silent sigh, she shook her head and put her cup down on the table, deciding to ignore the blatant hint until she’d woken up more.

Hodge’s mother frowned as she placed a plate of bacon and eggs before her daughter, noticing the ignored paper.  Turning, she made her way back to the stove.  “I ran into Mrs. Culpepper today at the beauty parlor,” she mentioned in an offhand voice.

Hodge winced, then dug into her food.  “How’s she doing?”

“As well as can be expected, given her age.”

“Mom!  She’s hardly ancient.”

“No, but she’s getting close to retirement age.  She’s going to need a good, dependable teacher to take her place when she leaves.”

Hodge shoved another forkful of eggs into her mouth, refusing to be baited.  “And I’m sure she’ll get one, when the time comes.”

Marion Hodges laid down her spatula and turned toward the table.  “Catherine, you’ve been home for almost a week now.  I’m not trying to push you out of the nest or anything, but don’t you think it’s time you thought of your future?”

“Mom, I am thinking about my future.  Every minute of every day.  Believe me.”

“Catherine….”

“Mother, we’ve been having this argument every day since I’ve gotten home.  I know you only want what’s best for me, but you have to realize that I want that too.”

“I know, honey, but basketball….”

“Is what I want to do with my life, Mom.  If I can.”  Laying her knife and fork back down on the table, she faced her mother directly. “Mom, Dylan Lambert herself came down to invite me to camp. She thinks I’m good and you know she was the best.”

“Yes she was the best and look what happened to her. She was injured and now…”

“And now she’s a head coach. Besides that’s not going to happen to me.”

“Do you suppose the great and mighty Dylan Lambert had the same conversation with her mother?”

“Mom…” Hodge whined and let her head drop to the table.

To her great relief her dad and bothers came charging into the kitchen in search of food. The need to feed her family soon distracted the elder woman from nitpicking at her daughter.

Matthew, third eldest at 14, sat down and nudged her with his elbow. “What’s wrong sis?”

Hodge jerked a thumb over her shoulder at her mother.

“Oh,” Matthew said, knowingly. He too had been the focus of his mother’s loving, but annoying attentions. “Sorry.”

“S’okay.” She lifted her head and smiled at his. “How’s it going Pee Wee?”

“Not bad. I got an A on my Trig final, so I’m pretty pleased.”

“That’s great. It’s nice to have one math whiz in the family. I’ll hire you to be my accountant when I turn pro.”

“It’s a deal.” He scooted closer to his sister and whispered, “So did you really meet Dylan Lambert?”

“Yup.”

“Please tell me she’s really beautiful.”

“Oh little brother, you have no idea.”

Matthew’s cheeks reddened.  “Man.  Think you can get me tickets to come see you play?”

Hodge smiled at her brother’s simple and unquestioning acceptance of her dream.  “As close to the court as I can get ‘em, Pee Wee.”

“Thanks, sis.  You rock!”

*******

Hodge stood in the driveway, bouncing the basketball and staring at the hoop but making no attempt to make a shot.  It was clear she was deep in thought.

“Hey Kitty Cat.” 

“Hey dad.”

She threw the ball to her father, who caught it easily.

“Don’t let your mother get to you Cat.  She’s just doing what mothers do. She wants what’s best for you.”

“And if playing pro ball is best for me?”

“Then she’ll give you grief every time she sees you, buy me season tickets to your games and point your picture out on magazine covers to everyone at the grocery store.”  He passed the ball back to her.

Hodge laughed as she caught the ball.  “I don’t want to make her mad, Dad but geeze…”

“I know sweetheart. She’s just fussing because that’s what good Catholic mothers do.”

“I thought they did guilt.”

“No, they leave that to the good Jewish mothers.” He laughed as he slapped the ball from her hands. “Come on Miss Big Shot Basketball player, let’s see if you can still take your old man.”

“In my sleep, Dad!” she teased.

*******

Later that evening, Hodge found herself in the living room, playing video games with her two youngest brothers, who were twins.  The phone rang, and a moment later, her brother John entered the living room.

“Hey Cat Poop.”

“What? Can’t you see I’m busy here, slacker?” She groaned as a huge green dragon fried her warrior on the screen, much to the delight of her younger brothers who howled with laughter as they rolled around on the floor.

“Dylan Lambert is on the phone.”

“Yeah right!” Heaving herself off the floor, she walked over and grabbed the phone from him. “That’s not even funny, John. I swear, if this is one of your dorky friends, I’m gonna twist your head till it pops off your runty little neck.”

He just shrugged as she put the phone to her ear.

“Cat Poop?” the silken voice on the other end of the phone asked.

Hodge pulled the phone away from her ear as if it had grown fangs.  She stared at the receiver for a moment before putting it back to her ear.  “Coach Lambert?”

“Last time I checked,” came the dry reply.

Hodge sighed. “I did it again didn’t I.”

She decided that she liked Dylan’s laugh.  Very much.  Even when it was, as now, at her expense.

“It’s alright,” Dylan said finally.  “I can imagine what it’s like growing up with younger brothers.”

“It’s a handful,” Hodge agreed.

“Listen, the reason I called was that I’m going to be in Boston on Thursday to attend a dinner.  I was wondering if you might be able to take a run up there and meet with me for lunch on Friday.  There are a couple of things I need to discuss with you.”

Hodge felt her grin trying to encompass her entire face.  One triumphant fist pumped in the air.  When she spoke, she tried her best to modulate her tone into one of casual interest.  “Sure, I can do that.”

“Do you know where Morrissey’s is?”

“I sure do!  I love that place!”

“Alright, how about if we meet at 2pm, then.  My flight doesn’t leave till seven.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I’ll see you then.  Goodbye, Catherine.”

“Bye, Coach.”

Hodge hung up the phone, grinning like a fool.

******

It was twenty minutes to two when Hodge found herself in front of the mirrored glass windows of Morrissey’s, a trendy restaurant in the heart of Boston.  Catching her reflection, she stopped briefly to make sure her appearance was up to par.  Dark, crisply pressed slacks and a mint polo were formal enough for Morrissey’s, but relaxed enough that she could feel comfortable.  Her shoulder length hair, normally pulled back in a tight braid, hung loose and shining in the bright spring sun.

Opening the door, Hodge stepped into the cool, dim interior and then into a short line of customers waiting to be seated.  The restaurant was crowded with business types enjoying a late lunch and some last minute schmoozing.  Conversation was muted; a soothing hive drone interspersed with the pleasant sound of silver ringing on china.

As she waited in line, she resisted the urge to look around like some gawking fan searching for a glimpse of her favorite star.  A moment later, she found herself before a tall podium.  A well-dressed and attractive blonde woman was staring down at her, her smile polite.  “May I help you?”

“Yes.  I’m meeting Pallas Lambert here today.”

The hostess’ expression froze as her eyes narrowed.  “And you are?”

“Catherine Hodges, Ma’am.”

A more genuine smile appeared.  “Ms. Lambert is already seated.  If you’ll follow me?”

Hodge followed the hostess through the restaurant, past the central grouping of tables, and toward a darker, more intimate area, where small, sheltered booths ran along the far wall.  Hodge wondered at the intimacy of the setting, then realized that the placement was more to hide Dylan’s celebrity from prying eyes than anything else.

The hostess stepped out of the way to reveal Dylan seated at the table, a cell phone up to her ear.  She wore a royal blue silk top whose sleeves were rolled to the elbows, revealing corded forearms and thick, supple wrists.  Like Hodge, her hair was down, spilling past her shoulder blades and shining blue in the muted, overhead lighting. Hodge felt her body instinctively respond, and she shifted on her feet, caught between a rock and a hard place.

Alright, Catherine, settle down.  Just because she’s an absolute knockout doesn’t mean you can’t treat her like any other person.  Right?  Right.  Nothing to it.  Now if my heart would only stop beating like a freight train going uphill, I might have this thing licked!

Dylan smiled at Hodge and gestured for her to sit down.  Hodge slid into the booth and immediately picked up the menu to avoid staring at the woman across the table. She’d seen this menu many times before, and knew exactly what she wanted to order.  Morrissey’s had excellent food, though it was a bit pricey.  Still, the money from the part time job she’d carried all through college would easily cover this unexpected expense.  Besides, she’d been craving a thick, juicy Morrissey’s steak for a week now, and damned if she wasn’t going to take care of that craving.

Dylan finally managed to get her troublesome agent off the phone by promising him a meeting with the Nike people within the next week.  She folded the phone, slipped it into her vest pocket, and rubbed at her throbbing temples.  Headaches bloomed every time she talked to Manny.  She wondered, for perhaps the thousandth time, why she didn’t just fire the bastard and be done with it.

Pushing those thoughts from her mind, she summoned up a smile, which she gave to the young woman seated across from her.  “Thanks for coming.”

Hodge returned the smile.  “Thank you for asking me.”

The waiter appeared, as if by magic, and with a bow of her head, Hodge gave Dylan the honor of ordering first.  As she listened to the selection, her face fell.  Dylan was ordering from what Hodge and her friends liked to call the “crunchy sticks and bark” section of the menu.

Great.  She’s a vegetarian.

Her stomach cried bitter tears as all thoughts of a nice slab of beef went swirling down the drain.

Catching Hodge’s woebegone expression, Dylan couldn’t help but grin.  “It’s alright,” she said softly after she’d finished ordering.  “Get what you like.”

“But….”

“Believe me, you won’t offend me.  I’m the only vegetarian I know, and if I took exception to people eating animal products, I’d be dining alone for the rest of my life.”  She chuckled.  “Really, it’s fine.”

Something in Dylan’s eyes convinced Hodge, and her stomach leapt for joy.

After the waiter left, Dylan folded her hands in front of her, and fixed her dinner companion with a penetrating stare.  “As you probably know, the Badgers have several picks in the upcoming draft.  Aside from the number one, we’ve got another first round, two seconds, and a third.”

Hodge nodded.  She’d heard about the flurry of deal making during the off-season.  The Badgers were well positioned to pick up some outstanding talent.

“I’d like you for number one.”

If she hadn’t been sitting, Hodge would have likely collapsed to the ground in an undignified heap.  While even a blind man would have noticed the interest in her as a player, never in her wildest fantasies had she ever imagined she would be the first person selected in the draft.  At most, given the multitude of excellent prospects this year, including a 6’ 7” center who people were already comparing to Dylan, she hoped to go somewhere in the late first, early second round.

Dylan was obviously still talking, but Hodge couldn’t hear her for the buzzing in her ears.  When the coach stopped talking and fixed her with that piercing gaze again, Hodge all but slapped herself out of her stupor.

“Would you…mind running that by me one more time?  I think I missed something.”

“Which part?”

Hodge blushed.  “Everything after the ‘I’d like you for number one’ part.”

Dylan laughed softly.  “I asked you if that would be alright with you.”

Hodge felt that queer stunned sensation threaten to come down over her again.  She gamely shook it off.  “You’re asking me?”

“Yes, I’m asking.  To be honest, Catherine, I have no desire to waste my prime pick on someone who’ll refuse to sign a contract because she believes her talents could be put to better use elsewhere. The Badgers have never been contenders, but we’re getting close.  I want someone who wants to be on our team as much as we want to have her.  And I’d like that someone to be you.”

“Are you kidding?” Hodge asked, with a natural exuberance that she couldn’t hide if she tried.  “I’d love to play with you!”

She froze as those words hung in the air between them.  She felt her entire body go warm with a flush hot enough to start the overhead sprinkler system.

“I…uh…didn’t exactly mean that the way it sounded.”

“I think I understand your point,” Dylan replied dryly. 

Hodge continued on as if she hadn’t heard, though in fact she had. “It’s just…. When I was a child, I fell in love with basketball.  I don’t know why, I just know I did.  And as I got older, people kept giving me reasons why I couldn’t play.  They told me I was too short, or too slow, or too skinny, or whatever.  And it was hard, because when you’re a kid, you kind of walk this tightrope between wanting to listen to ‘authority’ and wanting to prove everyone wrong.”  She laughed.  “I know I don’t look like much of a rebel, but I was in those days.”

Dylan simply smiled and nodded, interested in hearing this fascinating young woman speak her mind.  Her voice was melodic and soothing, and as she listened, Dylan felt her headache begin to slip away.

“I was in high school, fighting for a spot on the team, when you turned the league on its ear.  You were…it was…god…amazing to watch.  It was then that I realized.”

“What?” Dylan asked, entranced.

“Everything I was going through, you were too.”  Hodge held up a hand to forestall any comment.  “I don’t mean that you were too short or anything, because obviously you’re not.”  She laughed softly.  “But I can remember the articles and the sports commentators saying that a woman would never be able to dunk as well as a man, or shoot as well as a man, or hundreds of other things.  And instead of listening to those people, you just went ahead and proved everyone wrong by doing what they said you couldn’t.  And I realized that if you could do it, so could I.  I saw that you were opening a door, and I was going to do my best to walk through it.”

Leaning slightly forward, Hodge looked Dylan directly in the eye.  “You taught me how to fight, and you taught me how to win.  And I know there is so much more I can learn from you.  So yes, I want to be part of the Badgers as much as you want to have me there.”

Their food arrived just as Hodge finished speaking.  Dylan used the time to ponder Hodge’s words, and the passion so evident in the young woman.  If there had even been a glimmering of a doubt before, none existed any more.  Catherine Hodges was a winner.

Dinner was eaten in companionable silence, and when the last morsel had been consumed and the dishes taken away, Dylan again looked at Hodge.  “There are some other things we need to discuss before you make your final decision.”

Hodge felt a tremor of nervousness run through her, but did her best to look unfazed.  “Is there something wrong?”

“No.  At least, not in the traditional sense.”  Letting out a breath, Dylan tried to compose her thoughts.  “What have you heard about the Badgers’ owner, Horace Johnson?”

“Well, I know that he owns Johnson’s Electronics, a nationwide chain of electronics superstores.  I know that he’s active in supporting the Republican party, that he’s married and has one son and a daughter, and that he’s known to be a bit…conservative in his political leanings.”

“Mm,” Dylan replied.  “Conservative would be one way of putting it, yes.”

“Let me guess.  He has an issue with the fact that I’m gay.”  Hodge didn’t need verbal confirmation.  The look in Dylan’s eyes told her everything she needed to know.  “Well, we might have a problem then, because it’s not something I can switch on and off.”

“I know.”

“So…where does that leave us?”

“That depends,” Dylan replied.  “Though it’s something I’m not fond of, all the contracts in the league have a morality clause.  Same one for everybody, players and coaches.”

“Not the owners, huh?”

Dylan smiled.  “No, not the owners.  It’s pretty standard.  Don’t break the law, don’t get caught sleeping around, don’t party all night long and then lead the police on a chase through the city.  Basically, don’t do anything that’s going to embarrass the league or its image.”

“Don’t be gay?”

“Be discreet.”

“Closeted, you mean.”

“Discreet,” Dylan answered.

“I don’t mean to sound argumentative, but I’m not sure I understand the difference.”

Sighing, Dylan nodded.  She hated herself for even having to bring this up.  Damn Johnson and his bigotry.   “There are several gay players in the league.  Their right to privacy prevents me from giving you their names.  Except for one.”

Reaching into her pocket, Dylan pulled out a business card and slid it across the table. Hodge looked down at the name, then back up at Dylan.  “Shauna Keeps.  She used to play with you on the Lightening.”

“Yes.  She got traded last year to the Shot and is living here in Boston with her partner and their daughter.  She can answer your questions.  She’s expecting your call.”

Hodge almost—almost—broke down and asked the question that sat between them, like a white elephant.  Instead, she nodded and slipped the card into her own pocket.  “Thank you.  I’ll call her this afternoon.”

“Talk to her.  Then think about everything.  When you’ve made your decision, let me know.”

“I’ll do that.”

When the check was presented, Dylan waved Hodge off.  “This one’s on me.”

Hodge smiled.  “Thank you.”

Dylan permitted herself for just a moment to feel the energy between them.  Then she closed it off, and stood.

Hodge stood with her, and the two shook hands.  “I’ll call you,” Hodge promised.

“I’ll be waiting.”

Then Dylan was gone, leaving behind a radiant vigor that echoed her passing. 

“Wow,” Hodge said softly, shaking her head.  “Just…wow.”

*******

Much like the woman herself, Shauna Keeps’ home was large, open and airy.  Situated on a high bluff well outside of the city proper, it had a commanding view of the countryside as seen through a multitude of large, floor-to-ceiling windows. 

Shauna opened the door a moment after Hodge knocked and, with a big grin, escorted the smaller woman into her home.  A smidge over six feet tall, she was long, lean and incredibly attractive.  Her skin was the color of melted dark chocolate and her eyes were several shades lighter, giving her face an exotic intensity that Hodge found extremely compelling.

A wide, warm, and white smile greeted her.  “Cat Hodges, right?”

Hodge couldn’t help but return the grin.  “Yes, that’s right.  And you’re Keepaway.”

Keeps laughed.  “Right on.  C’mon in.”

Hodge followed her host inside, and stopped, entranced as she entered the huge living area.  Everything-- walls, floor, ceiling, furniture, electronic equipment, everything-- was a brilliant, almost blinding white.  Except for the warmth of the air, she might have entered some well-appointed igloo on the arctic tundra.

A door to the left of the living room opened, admitting a petite, stunning woman carrying a sleepy toddler on one hip.  Shauna’s smile grew.  “Cat, I’d like to introduce you to my partner, Verdelle, and our daughter, LaShonda.  Dell, this is Cat Hodges.”

Hodge grasped Verdelle’s hand warmly and smiled at the toddler, who smiled shyly back and burrowed her face into her mother’s neck.  “Very pleased to meet you, Ma’am.”

Dell laughed.  “I can’t be more than three years older than you, girl.  Dell is just fine.”

Hodge grinned.  “Dell, then.”

“Good to meet you, too.  D’s pretty high on you.”

Gathering that “D” was Dylan, Hodge nodded, barely managing to keep a blush from coloring her cheeks.

Dell looked over to her partner.  “I’m gonna take the baby up for a nap.  You guys want anything before I go up?”

“No thank you,” Hodge replied.

“We’ll be fine, baby,” Shauna answered, kissing her partner and daughter.  “Be up in a bit.”

After Dell had climbed the circular staircase and disappeared from sight, Shauna turned to Hodge.  “C’mon, let’s get comfortable.”

Hodge followed her hostess through another door and into what Shauna called a sunroom, which looked like a very large glassed in porch.  Hodge liked it immediately.  She was directed to a large, overstuffed leather recliner and sat down, enjoying the comfort.   Shauna took the chair’s twin, easing her long body down into it with a groan of relief.  “Damn back’s still screwed up,” she grumbled under her breath.

“Will you be okay before the season starts?”

Shauna grinned.  “Oh yeah.  No problem there.”  Her smile faded just slightly.  “D tells me you got some questions about the politics in the league.”

A bit uncomfortable, Hodge rubbed at the back of her neck.  “Well, I do.  Kind of.  But I don’t want to intrude on your privacy.”

“Girl,” Shauna said, laughing, “you’re not intruding on anything.  Dylan trusts you, and that’s alright by me.  Go on and ask your questions.  I won’t bite.”

“Well,” Hodge said, still unsure, “they have to do with…being gay.”

With a huge grin, Shauna leaned forward, clasping her large hands between her knees.  “You need some pointers?  Alright!  I can do that!”

Hodge laughed, feeling instantly better.  “No, no.  No pointers.  I need to know what it’s like…being gay in the league.  How do you live your life without worrying about breaking the rules?  I mean, I’ve lived openly for so long.  How do I go back into the closet?”

Shauna slumped back in her chair.  “Aw, Cat.  It ain’t about going back into the closet.  It’s about keeping your public face away from your private one.  You understand?”

“No, not really.”

“It’s like this, Cat.  Once you go big time, you live in a bubble.  A glass one.  You might think you’re a basketball player, but you’re really fanbait.  Once you take your first step out onto the court as a pro, your life isn’t your own anymore.  You belong to them.”

“Them?”

“The crowd.  The people who pay to watch you play.  If you’re any good at it, and D thinks you’re gonna be, they’ll wanna know everything about you.  Everything.”

“God,” Hodge whispered, feeling a heavy, smothering weight descend upon her shoulders.  “How do you cope?”

“You cope, my friend, by digging out this little piece of your life that’s yours and only yours.  And you guard it, man, you guard it like it’s fuckin’ Fort Knox.  And the only people you let in are the people you want to let in.”  Keeps favored Hodge with a look heavy with compassion.  “On the outside, you’re all smiles, the league’s newest sensation.  But on the inside, where it counts, you’re you.  You gotta keep ‘em separated, or you’ll go down. Hard.”

Hodge thought about this for a long moment.  “But…what about Coach Lambert?  I mean, she’s everywhere.  She’s always giving interviews, posing for pictures when she’s out on the town.  She doesn’t seem to have a problem with it.”

Shauna’s expression turned to one of deep sadness.  “That’s where you’re wrong, Cat.  This shit is harder on her than on anyone I know.  People think they know her, but nobody really does.  Not down deep, not in here.”  A long finger pointed to the center of Shauna’s chest.  “She’s so walled off that sometimes I’m scared for her, you know?”

“I don’t understand,” Hodge replied, frustrated.

Shauna sighed. “I know.  And I’m not makin’ it any easier.  Why don’t I lay a little history on you.  Maybe that’ll help.”

Hodge gave a grateful nod.  “Thank you.”

“Right before D hit the scene, the league was goin’ down the tubes big time.  The novelty of watching women jump around in tank tops was wearing off.  People were complaining that the game was too slow, the scoring was too low, there was no offense, no defense, whatever.  And then you had the gay thing.”

“Yeah,” Hodge replied, “I remember hearing about that.”

“It hits most women’s sports sooner or later.  We just got blasted especially hard.  Folks stopped comin’ to the games, stopped bringin’ their kids, like they were gonna catch something.  It just got outta control.  Crash and burn time, baby.”

“And then along came the Goddess.”

“Exactly!” Shauna exclaimed, grinning.  “Here was this drop dead gorgeous hunk of womanflesh  who could outshoot, outscore, outblock, outjam, and outrun anybody anywhere.  And she was every man’s wet dream, in the flesh.”  Keeps’ mouth twisted, as if she’d bitten into a very bitter fruit.  “Too pretty to be a dyke, you know?”

Hodge rolled her eyes in disgust.

“She didn’t care what they thought, though,” Shauna continued.  “She just wanted to play ball.”

“I bet they cared, though, right?”

Shauna nodded.  “Right,” she bit off.  “They cared a lot.  Especially when the stands started getting filled and the endorsement offers came rolling in.  Seemed like everyone wanted D’s name on their product.  Didn’t matter what it was, you know?  As long as her name was on it, it sold.”

“And she liked the publicity?”

“Hell no!” Shauna exclaimed, sitting bolt upright in her chair.  “She fucking hated it!  But there really wasn’t anything she could do.  Endorsement deals are part of the game, baby, and if you wanna play, you gotta pay.”

“Jesus.  How did she handle it all?”

“It was really hard, I know that.  Hell, I have trouble coping, and I got nothing compared to her.”

“I think I’m beginning to see your point,” Hodge said finally.

Shauna grinned.  “Thought you would.  More up there than just a pretty face, huh?”

Hodge blushed and ducked her head.  Keeps laughed.

“I’m still confused about one thing though.”

“Shoot,” Keeps invited, laughing a little at her unintentional pun.

“Well, you told me that in order to cope well, you need to keep your private life private.”

“Right.”

“But…for Dylan, it’s like you can’t turn on the television or open a magazine without seeing her out somewhere exotic with the stud of the month on her arm.  So…how does that fit in with what you’re telling me?”

“There’s actually a funny story about that,” Shauna replied.

“I’d like to hear it, if I could.”

Keeps shrugged.  “Don’t see why not.”  She settled back, making herself more comfortable in the chair.  Hodge followed suit.  “D was in the league only a month or two.  Instant superstar, but nobody knew quite what to make of her, ya know?  She’d give you an interview when you asked, but didn’t say nothing about herself.  Then one day, she got a phone call from a friend of hers she grew up with.  Thad Morgan.”

“The all pro quarterback?  People’s Most Eligible Bachelor four years running?  That Thad Morgan?”

“That’s the dude.  Anyway, he was headin’ out to some awards banquet thing and he asked her to come along.  She didn’t have anything else to do, so she went.  Next day, every friggin paper in the country had her and Thad pasted across the sports pages, like they were one step away from shackin up!” Keeps paused in her story to laugh at the image.  Hodge smiled politely as she waited for the emotions to pass.

“Sorry about that,” Shauna said finally, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.

“That’s ok,” Hodge replied.  “So, the press jumped to the wrong conclusion.  Did either of them correct the misconception?”

“Nope.”  Shauna grinned.  “In a way, it was perfect for both of them.  See, when D went out, even to the damn store, she’d have to put up with getting hit on by every dude and his brother.  Not many men are gonna tackle a chick whose got a boyfriend who could pull their nuts out through their throat, though.  So it was all good.”

“Yeah, I can see the benefits of something like that.”

“As for Thad, well, aside from the fact that having D with him couldn’t do anything but improve his image, he had himself a little secret that being seen with D helped him to hide.”

Hodge thought about the cryptic remark for a moment.  Then her eyes widened so much that Shauna thought they’d pop out of her skull and roll under the couch.  “Thad Morgan is gay?!?”

Keeps cocked her head.  “You mean you didn’t know? Where’s your gaydar, girl?”

Pinging off the screen anytime I’m within a hundred feet of Dylan Lambert.  Hodge elected, however, to keep that particular thought to herself for the time being.

“That boy’s queerer than my mama’s frilly pink garter!”

“I never knew.”

“That’s cause he’s damn good at keeping his private life to himself.  I mean, lesbians—in sports, it’s kinda expected, ya know?  But if anyone ever found out that their macho man quarterback liked ham hocks better than oysters, well….”

Hodge winced.

“You got that right, my friend.  Anyway, the league about creamed itself over it  They’ve finally got themselves the poster girl for clean heterosexual living.  I heard the commissioner threw a big damn party for all the owners and they got wasted on champagne and fish eggs.”

“That is disgusting.”

Keeps sighed.  “I know.  It sucks, don’t it?”

“Royally.”  Hodge looked up at her new friend, eyes bleak.  “I wish the world could be a place where stuff like that doesn’t matter anymore.”

Shauna felt pulled into those green eyes so filled with innocence, and yet sparkling with a sad type of knowing.  Her heart tugged in her chest, and she came to a decision.  “I know, Cat.  We all do.  Dylan especially.”

Hodges’ eyes widened again, though not so much from shock as from a suspicion finally confirmed.  “You mean…?”

“Yeah.  I mean.”

“I…think I knew that already.”

“I’m sure you did,” Keeps responded, utterly serious. She leaned forward again, pinning Hodge with her frank stare. “And I’m also sure you know that that kind of knowledge is a lot more power than most people deserve.”

The threat wasn’t subtle.  Hodge could heft its weight, feel its texture, scent its danger.  But she could also sense the implied trust that came with it.  Shauna Keeps wasn’t the type of person who had accidents.  And this was no accident.

“I won’t say a word to anyone,” she said softly.  “I promise.”

The tension broke as Keeps grinned and slumped back in her chair.  “You’re alright, Cat Hodges.”

Hodge could have wept with relief.  Instead, she returned Shauna’s grin with one of her own.  “Thanks.  You’re not so bad yourself, Keepaway.”  As Keeps laughed, Hodge caught something in the other woman’s eye, and an impulse started her tongue before her mind could still it.  “You and Dylan were lovers, weren’t you.”  She froze, horrified.  “Oh god. I can’t believe I just said that.”

It was Shauna’s turn to stare.  She blinked once, then twice, but the question still hung in the air between them.  Her quick mind came up with all sorts of evasions, but in the end, she decided to settle for the truth.  “Yes, we were.  For a little over a year.”

Hodge nodded, her face still stark with embarrassment.

“It’s alright, Cat.  No harm, no foul.  I mean, it was a good thing, while it lasted.  And we’re still best friends.  But…loving D is like trying to hold the sun in your hands.  It’s gonna take a special person to be able to do it right.  And if there’s any person on this earth who deserves it to be done right, it’s her.”

“I…think I knew that, too.”

*******

Dylan sat in her small office, long fingers clicking on the mouse at her right hand, scrolling through the profiles of available guards.  It had been three days since she had sent Catherine Hodges to see Shauna, and as each moment passed without hearing from the young woman, Dylan became more certain that whatever was said between them had scared her off for good.

Taking her eyes from the monitor, she glared at the innocuous beige phone at her left hand, willing it to ring.  Its continued silence mocked her, and she resisted the almost overwhelming urge to toss it against the wall just to hear it shatter.

Another mouse click and another bright face staring out at her in full Technicolor glory.  She’d been through the list countless times this day alone and was still no closer to a decision than she had been three days ago.

She narrowed her eyes at the phone again, growling low in her throat.  As if awaiting that particular threat, the phone suddenly came to life.  She let it ring twice, then lifted the receiver, forcing a casualness of voice she didn’t feel.  “Badgers.  Lambert.”

“Hi, Coach.”

The sound of Hodge’s voice brought a tentative smile to Dylan’s lips.  “Catherine.”

“I…I wanted to thank you for arranging for me to meet with Ms. Keeps.  She explained a lot of things and really made me think.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

Hodge’s warm smile was evident in her voice.  “You did.  And I wanted to let you know that if the offer’s still open, I would be honored to play for the Badgers.”

Dylan’s smile broke full upon her face, like the sun out from behind heavy clouds.  Her fist pumped once, catching the attention of Mac, who was passing by the office.  He stopped, turned, and stared.

“Hodge?” he mouthed.

Dylan nodded.

“Yes?” he mouthed again.

Dylan nodded again.

“Alright!”  This, he didn’t mouth.

“Excuse me?” Hodge asked, hearing but not recognizing the commotion.

Scowling at Mac, Dylan returned her attention to the phone.  “The offer is most definitely still open,” she said, grinning for all she was worth.  The expression felt strange on her face, but she decided that perhaps she liked it.

“Cool!”

“Yes, it is that.  So, I’ll see you at the Crosstown Athletic Club next Saturday, then.”

“You definitely will!”  Hodge could feel a joyous scream building in her throat.  “And Coach?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

Dylan chuckled.  “You’re welcome, Catherine.”

Hearing the hum of an empty line, Dylan shook her head and racked the phone.  She then turned off her computer, grabbed her jacket, and stood.  “Mac!”

“Yes?”

“Shut it down, my friend.  Drinks are on me.”

Mac’s joyful laughter could be heard throughout the building.

*******

“Hello and welcome to Draft Day on ESPN.  I’m your host, Mark Rogers, here with co-host Rebecca Thompson, former standout forward with the San Antonio Sting.  Rebecca, it’s a crowded house here at the Crosstown Athletic Club, and the joint, as they say, is jumping.”

 “It sure is, Mark.  There’s a lot of excitement here tonight. And the biggest buzz is, as always, who will go number one.”

 “That and the fact that Dylan Lambert, out of the public eye for pretty much the past few months, will be here to choose that number one player for the Birmingham Badgers.”

 “That’s true, Mark.  I saw her walk in just a few minutes ago, and she was absolutely mobbed.”

 “No surprise there.  So, tell me, who do you think she’s going to pick?”

 “The only thing I’m sure of, Mark, is that it’s going to be a guard.  Most likely a point guard.  She’s managed to build up a pretty solid team in the off-season, but the big weak spot in their lineup remains the point guard position.”

 “Well, there’s a lot of talent to choose from in this year’s draft, Rebecca.  Who do you think is the strongest contender, based on what you’ve heard so far?”

 “I’d have to say Keisha Brown is the strongest contender out there tonight, Mark.  Despite the rumors of a dust up at pre-draft camp, she’s got the best skills of any of them.  Plus, she’s got the height and the mental toughness that it will take to change a mediocre team like the Badgers into a winner.”

“Is there anybody else on the radar screen, or is Brown pretty much a slam dunk?”

 “I’ve heard some mumblings about Mela and Kela Jackson.  Both of them are very strong point guards who’d be an asset to any team.  They’re both more laid back than Brown, but that can be a curse as well as a blessing. Then there’s Nissa Tomlinson, but I’d have to say that her off-court troubles have put her at the back of the pack.”

 “I’ve been hearing some talk about the little guard from the Huskies, Catherine Hodges.  Any serious consideration being given to her?”

 “I’d have to say she’s pretty much of a dark horse, Mark.  She’s shown some good leadership skills down the stretch for UCONN, but her height is a real disadvantage, and I think Dylan will go with a stronger player.”

 “Doesn’t look like a long shot is in the cards today, huh?”

 “Doesn’t look that way, Mark.”

Dylan snorted as she palmed the remote and shut the television off.  After pushing through the crowd to reach the confines of the so-called “green room”, the silence was a blessing.  Sighing, she rested her head back against the comfortable couch and rubbed at her temples to forestall another headache.  She enjoyed the silence for a few moments before the door swung inward, admitting a tall, middle-aged, and attractive woman.  Ryan Milton, coach of the perennial powerhouse Tampa Bay Tropics, was a face well known to fans of women’s basketball, college and pro alike.  She was a joy to watch, coaching as she lived, with a frenetic intensity that earned her the nickname “Tampa Tornado”.

Crossing the room in long, easy strides, Ryan slumped down onto the couch beside Dylan and let out a loud sigh.  “Place is a zoo,” she remarked in her trademark low, raspy voice.

“And we’re the trained gorillas,” Dylan replied without opening her eyes.

“Speak for yourself,” Ryan retorted, chuckling.  “I’m the Bengal Tiger.”

One eye, bearing a murderously teasing glint, was slowly revealed from beneath a once closed lid.  “So, if I want you to perform, all I have to do is flick my whip at you, hmm?  I’ll keep that in mind.”

Dylan closed her eyes again, deliberately missing the slow, rosy flush that moved up from the “V” in Ryan’s blouse until it met the roots of her auburn hair.

Silence reigned once again.

After she was sure that her blush had gone away and any tremor in her voice would be fully concealed, Ryan turned to Dylan.  “I’ve been authorized to offer you Michelle Madison and both of our second round picks in exchange for your number one.”

Opening her eyes, Dylan slowly turned her head, capturing and holding Ryan’s gaze effortlessly.

Ryan swallowed hard.  “C’mon, Dylan.  You know Michelle is one of the better point guards out there.  She’s a proven team leader, a great passer, and a good scorer.”

Dylan held her silence, perversely enjoying the other woman’s discomfiture.

“I know who you’ve got your eye on, Dylan, and I can assure you, she’ll still be around in the second round.  No one else is going after her.  And this way, you get a veteran who can teach her the ropes, and two high picks that you don’t have now.”

“You really want that center badly, don’t you,” Dylan said finally.

Ryan nodded.  “Yes, I do.  Badly enough to go to my boss and practically beg him to let me do this deal.”

Dylan was silent for a long moment, then stood.  “I’m sorry, but you wasted your time, Ryan.  No deal.”

Ryan stood up as well, yelling at the broad back presented her as Dylan headed for the door.  “You’re wasting your pick, Lambert!  That kid will turn out to be the laughing stock of the league, and you’ll go down right along with her!!”

An enigmatic smile tossed over one shoulder was her only answer.

********

Hodge sat in the roped off area in the center of the room, waiting with the rest of the hopeful draftees for the show to begin.. She tried not to show how nervous she really was. Never let ‘em see you sweat, she kept telling herself over and over as everything was readied to make the grand announcement.

Looking across the room, she smiled at the sight of her family, bunched protectively together.  Her brothers, she could tell, were doing their very best to behave, and while her mother looked pensive, her father was positively beaming.

Hodge stopped her foot from bouncing and begged whatever heavenly spirit might be listening to bring this torture to an end.  As if in answer to her prayer, the commissioner stepped up to the podium and, after shuffling his papers several times, began to speak.

Dylan stood waiting in the wings, tuning out the commissioner’s prepared speech.  Her own short announcement was easily memorized, and all that was left was to convince herself for a final time that her decision was the correct one.  Not that she needed to.  Dylan was nothing if not decisive.  Instead, she amused herself by picturing the crowd’s shocked reaction when she dropped her little bombshell.  Unfelt, a smirk curled the corner of her mouth.

When the commissioner turned and caught her eye, she came back to the present and nodded to indicate her readiness to proceed.  He gave her a quick smile before returning his attention to the audience.

“And now that I’ve put you all to sleep with my opening remarks, I’ll try and wake you all back up by introducing the holder of the first pick in this year’s draft.  Representing the Birmingham Badgers, Ms. Pallas Dylan Lambert.”

The crowd erupted into loud, sustained cheering as Dylan made her way across the room to the podium.  An entire constellation’s worth of flashes went off simultaneously, capturing forever the image of their beloved Goddess. 

Swept up in the crowd’s excitement, Hodge found herself standing with the rest, applauding for all she was worth and cheering herself hoarse.  She watched Dylan turn her head away from the cameras’ bright flashes, and at that moment, their eyes met, and locked.

For Hodge, the sounds around her faded beneath the loud hiss of blood in her ears.  She knew she was still clapping, she could feel the motion in her arms, but it was as if she was bringing two blocks of wood together repeatedly for all she could feel of her hands.  There was something between them.  She could feel it, as if someone had stretched an invisible, thrumming wire from one to the other, connecting them in that one brief infinity in a way that was a little frightening in its intensity.

Behind the podium, Dylan felt the same strange pull, not so much a physical reaction as one borne deep within her oft times buried emotions.  She allowed herself a brief moment to analyze the sensation, then quickly raised the walls she’d built to protect her from public scrutiny.

The applause finally died down, and the guests found their seats once again.

“Thanks for the welcome,” Dylan said, flashing the brilliant smile that had made the covers of untold numbers of magazines throughout the years.  There was some laughter and some cheering in response before the room quickly became quiet and filled with eager anticipation.

“On behalf of the Badgers, it is my pleasure to announce that the first pick of this year’s draft is…” She paused, looking around and enjoying the control she had over the crowd.  “Catherine Frances Hodges.”

Stunned silence filled the room for several long seconds.  Then a murmur of disbelief rose up like fresh water bubbling in a tidal pool.  Isolated, almost hesitant applause, broke out and spread throughout the audience.

As if she were viewing events from within a tunnel, Hodge barely felt the congratulatory slaps her fellow draftees were bestowing on her.  She felt herself come to her feet, and briefly wondered if she might faint.  Dylan’s expectant gaze lanced into her again, and she felt pulled forward by the strength of that warm look alone.

Finally, though the distance she’d traversed seemed like miles rather than a few scant yards, she reached the podium and accepted Dylan’s firm handclasp. 

“Congratulations,” Dylan said, then softened her tone.  “You alright?”

“I…I think so.  Just…if this is a dream, please don’t wake me up, alright?”

Dylan laughed.  “It’s no dream.  Here.”  She draped a purple and black Badgers jersey emblazoned with the number 3 over Hodge’s chest and set a Badgers cap atop her head.  “Welcome to the Badgers, Catherine.”

“Thank you,” Hodge replied, slowly coming out of her daze.  “Thank you so much.”

“Thank you.” 

A split second later, Hodge felt herself easily pulled alongside Dylan, and together they smiled as the cameras flashed once again.

*******

Hodge took a deep breath and braced her hands against the wall of the green room, trying to calm herself before the upcoming press conference. Straightening, she found a pitcher of water on a nearby table and poured herself a glass. As she drank the cool liquid she ran her fingers over her jersey, which was lying over a chair. “They’re gonna retire this number when I’m done.”

“That’s the attitude.”

Hodge closed her eyes and bit her tongue gently when she heard Dylan’s voice behind her. “Why does this keep happening?” She turned around to find the tall woman leaning in the doorway.

“What?”

“You keep showing up when I say or do something stupid.”

“Lucky I guess.” Dylan pushed off the doorframe and entered the room. She smiled slightly, brushing her hand against Hodge’s jersey. “I said almost the exact same thing when I got drafted.”

“Yeah, but your number is retired.”

“Sure.  And yours will be too.”

Hodge’s eyes widened.  “How can you be so sure?”

Dylan grinned.  “Wouldn’t have drafted you otherwise.”  She laughed at the astonished look she received, and touched Hodge lightly on the shoulder.  “C’mon.  Let’s go face the press.”

*******

A side door opened, and Dylan entered the large room filled with reporters.  Hodge followed close on her heels.  Cameras flashed and whirred, and the excited hum of voices grew and swelled. 

The two women crossed to the long, microphone-festooned table and took the two chairs nearest the center, settling down in them with nearly identical grace.  The questions started up almost immediately, but Dylan held up a hand.  “One at a time, ladies and gentlemen.  One at a time.”  She pointed to a red-headed young man from Sports Illustrated.  “Mark?  You go first.”

“Ms. Lambert, you had a wide range of outstanding players to choose from in this draft.  Why did you settle on a relative unknown like Catherine Hodges?

Smiling, Dylan folded her hands in front of her.  “She’s the best.”

The reporter shuffled the papers in his hands, then waved them.  “I have the statistics here, and….”

“Have you ever seen her play, Mark?” she asked in a deceptively mild voice.

“Well, no, but….”

“I’m surprised at you, Mark.  You normally do your homework better than this.”

Mark flushed as snickering laughter scattered through the room.

Dylan fixed the man with a pointed stare.  “I was instructed to go after the best guard in the draft.  Catherine Hodges is the best.  It’s really as simple as that.”

“But…”

“Next question, please.  Sandra?”

“This question is for Ms. Hodges.  Ms. Hodges, how did it feel when you heard your name announced as the first pick in the draft?”

Hodge grinned.  “Amazing,” she said, drawing the word out.

Good natured laughter accompanied her declaration.

“How does it feel to be drafted by a team with a less than sterling record?”

This question came from Mark.  Dylan narrowed her eyes at him, then tipped her head in a gracious “touché” gesture.  The reporter smirked.

Prick, Hodge said to herself. “Well, the Badgers have shown tremendous improvement since Coach Lambert took over. She’s worked very hard to make the team a winner and I hope I can help in that process.”

Dylan didn’t bother to hide her own smirk.  The reporter flushed again.  Dylan’s eyes flashed.  She was enjoying herself.

The press conference went on with standard questions of the type asked of many a draftee on many a draft.  Then came a question that wasn’t standard.

“Ms. Hodges will you use your new position to advance the cause of gay and lesbian rights?”

For a brief moment, Hodge froze, clearly not expecting the question. Then, beneath the table, she felt a brief touch on her wrist. The touch was warm, and full of confidence.  Hodge immediately calmed.  Her thoughts became ordered, and she spoke the words her heart knew were true.  “The only thing I am going to use my new position to advance, Ma’am, is the Birmingham Badgers to a winning season, and hopefully the playoffs.”

The reporter’s lips twisted.  “Spouting the company line already, Ms. Hodge?  Your sexuality was always openly known in the past….”

“And it’s openly known in the present, Ma’am, as you have so clearly pointed out.”

Dylan bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from bursting into laughter at the expression on the reporter’s face.

“Is there anything else, Ma’am?” Catherine asked, the very picture of innocence.

Her sails deflated, the woman sat down in her chair, scowling.

“I think that wraps it up, ladies and gentlemen,” Dylan said, standing.  “We’ll see you in the playoffs.”

As soon as the door closed behind them, both Dylan and Catherine broke into laughter.  Finally calming, Dylan shook her head.  “And they wonder why I picked you.”

“I’m just glad you did,” Hodge replied honestly.

Dylan looked at her for a long moment, then smiled.  “So am I.”

*******

Hodge could only shake her head as she walked down the hall of the hotel. Even from all the way down the hall she could hear her brothers laughing and hollering, leading her unerringly to her family’s room.

She opened the door and was immediately set upon by the twins who grabbed her around the waist, one up front, one behind, making her the stuffing in a people sandwich.

“Hey guys!”

“This is great Cat!” Mark shouted at the top of his lungs.

“You’re going to be a big star!” Luke shouted even louder.

“Easy guys, I’ve got a long way to go before I hit big star.”

“If anyone can do it, Cat, you can.” Pulling the boys away from her, Hodge’s mother wrapped her arms around her daughter. “I’m so very proud of you.”

“Thanks Mom. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

They made their way further into the room, where it appeared that her father had ordered at least one of everything from the room service menu. “Dad, how can you afford all this? The suite, the food…” She plucked a bottle from an ice bucket. “…the champagne.”

“Hey, you let me worry about that. This is your party. Your job is to enjoy it.”

“Dad…”

A knock on the door sent on of the boys scurrying to open it. “Welcome to the room of the great Cat Hodges!” he piped up as he pulled the door open and came face to belly button with a body much, much taller than he was.  His blonde head tipped back, then back further, until the face of Dylan Lambert came into view.  “Um….”

“Hello there, little man,” Dylan rumbled, her face set in its most serious expression.  “Is the great Cat Hodges receiving visitors?”

“Um….  She’s….she’s….you’re….um….”

From within the loving grasp of her father’s embrace, Hodge chanced to look toward the door just in time to see Dylan fill it with her unmistakable presence.  Pulling away from her father, she hurried to the entrance just in time to catch her brother as he toppled backwards.

“Sorry about that,” she murmured.  “He’s…a little star struck.”

“Must run in the family,” Dylan teased.

“It must.” Setting her brother back on his feet and sending him off with a fond swat to the rump, Hodge shook her head and motioned the coach into the room. When she closed the door she turned to find that her entire family was standing slack jawed. “Coach Lambert I’d like to introduce my family. Who have just turned into statues for your amusement.”

Her oldest brother finally found his senses, laying somewhere around his shoes with his tongue and he managed to take a step forward, offering Dylan his hand. “Pleasure to meet you Miss Lambert.”  Though the highschooler was well past puberty, he was mortified to hear his voice crack several times   His blush rivaled his sister’s at its most vivid.

“Dylan, or Coach. Pleasure to meet you too John.”

Hodge took a step back and watched as her bothers took fawning to new heights, tripping over themselves in order to be the first to greet Dylan and shake her hand.  Kevin even managed to ask Dylan for her autograph, which she gracefully gave.

“Leave her alone guys,” Hodge growled finally, shooing them to the other side of the room. “Coach, these are my parents, Ilene and Joseph Hodges.”

Dylan nodded to the both of them, then shook hands warmly with each in turn. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person. Catherine has told me a lot about you.”

Cat’s mother laughed. “Yes, and we’ve heard all there is to hear about you for the last five years.”

“Oh God Mom…” Hodge groaned and turned her back, wishing the world would just end.

“So,” her mother continued, undaunted, “it’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

“Thank you,” Joseph interjected, tears misting his eyes, “for making my little girl’s dreams come true.”

Dylan smiled, liking the older man immediately.  His hands were the rough hands of a hard working man, his grip warm and strong.  It was obvious his daughter favored him highly, and she, in turn, was the apple of his eye.

While her parents talked to Dylan, Hodge took the time to grab a soda from the table. She waited for a lull in the conversation then stepped forward.

“So Coach what brings you this way? I didn’t think I’d see you ‘til rookie camp.”

Dylan tossed Hodge the item she’d been carrying. “You forgot this.”

Cat looked in the bag and shook her head. She had forgotten her jersey. “I’m sorry Coach.”

“S’okay. It happens.”

“Yeah, but it always seems to happen with me.”

“Coach Lambert can we offer you something to drink?” Joseph asked, hoping to deflect his daughter’s embarrassment.

“Thanks, but I need to get going. I just didn’t want our star going topless for her first game.”  She grinned.  “We’ll try letting her skills speak for her instead.”

“Can I walk you to your car?” Hodge asked, warning herself not to blush.

“Sure. I can go over a few things with you on the way.”  Dylan turned to Hodge’s family.  “It was very nice meeting you all.  I hope we’ll see you again during the season.”

“Already have my season tickets,” Joseph said, every inch the proud father.

With one final smile, Dylan turned and left, Hodge in tow.

Standing by the elevator, Dylan caught Hodge’s eye.  She smiled.  “Good job at the press conference.  Well played.”

Hodge grinned.  “Thanks.  I’ll admit that the question threw me for a loop, but the talk I had with Shauna really helped.”

“I’m glad she was able to fill you in on everything.”

By the look in Hodge’s eyes, Dylan knew that “everything” did, in fact, mean everything.

The elevator doors opened.  Hodge and Dylan stepped inside, and Dylan pushed the button for the lobby.  Silence hung between them as the elevator made its way down to the ground floor.

Just before the doors opened, Hodge turned to Dylan.  “I want you to know that I will keep what Shauna and I discussed in the strictest confidence,” she said softly.  “I’ll never tell anyone.”

Dylan smiled, and nodded.  “I know.  Thanks.”

They walked out to the rental, which was waiting in front of the hotel entrance.  Going to the trunk, Dylan retrieved her leather briefcase and snapped it open, pulling from within a series of business cards and forms which she handed over to Hodge.

“When you get back home, contact Mac at this number.  He’ll set up a time for you to meet and discuss your contract.  I’d strongly suggest retaining a lawyer, someone who specializes in contract law, to go with you when you start negotiations.  I’d also suggest looking for an agent.”

“I can do that,” Hodge replied.  “Can you recommend anyone for me?”

“It wouldn’t be ethical for me to recommend either for you since I represent the ‘company’ you’ll be working for.” She handed over several more cards.  “Here are some of the contact numbers of players I know and trust.  You can ask them for their recommendations.  Give Shauna a call too, if you want.  She’ll be able to help.”

“I’ll call them as soon as I get home.”

“Good.  You should also contact a realtor to set up some housing arrangements for you.  Here’s the number of the one I’ve used.  She’s very good at what she does.”  After handing Hodge the final card, she smiled.  “Rookie camp starts in a month.  Relax and have fun during your time off, but try to keep up your conditioning.  I don’t run an easy camp.”

Hodge grinned.  “Thanks for the warning.”

Dylan returned the grin.  “Goodbye for now, Catherine.  And thanks again.”

They clasped hands warmly, and then Dylan slipped into her car and was gone.

Hodge watched the car recede into the distance, a wistful smile on her face.  Then she turned and headed back to the cheerful madhouse that was her beloved family.

*******

Blowing out a cleansing breath, Hodge stood before the imposing, glass walled office building and smoothed out the creases in her dress slacks.  She knew she was stalling, but her mind wasn’t quite up to the task of ordering her body around this morning.  It didn’t help that her sorry excuse for a contract lawyer had chosen 10pm the evening before to call and cancel on her.  She’d spent the rest of the night debating with herself over what to do, but in the end decided that showing up alone was better than not showing up at all.  After all, this was a job interview, not Mrs. Smithers’ Adolescent Psych course.

A mental kick in the rear finally got her body in gear, and she grasped the ornate door handle, pulled it wide, and stepped into the lobby’s blessed coolness.

Her heels rang loudly as she crossed the vast expanse of dark-veined marble tiling, staring ahead at the gigantic crystal fountain and its rendering of a crystal basketball player holding a crystal basketball high aloft.

Passing the fountain, and marveling at the amount of money it must have taken to create such a thing, she immediately spied a long desk behind which a uniformed security guard was sitting.  On the wall above him was a gigantic rendering of the Badgers’ logo, all done up in tiny purple and black tiles.

Stepping up to the desk, she gave the guard her friendliest smile.  “Hello, my name is Catherine Hodges.  I’m here to meet with Mr. MacKenzie.”

“Mr. MacKenzie is expecting you, Ma’am,” the guard replied, sliding a clipboard across to her.  “Please sign in, and I’ll give you your badge.”

After signing her name, Hodge accepted the visitor’s badge from the guard and clipped it to her lapel.

“Take these elevators, Ma’am, and get off on the seventh floor.  Down the hall to your left is Mr. MacKenzie’s office.  You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you.”

The trip up was a quick one, and Hodge stepped out into a large, open area whose walls were windows and whose floors were the same dark marble as in the lobby.  Turning left, she walked down a hallway that wasn’t really a hallway at all, until she came upon a wide door bearing the name of the general manager on a golden plaque.

The door swung open easily, and she stepped into Mac’s plush offices.  The reception office was large and decorated in pleasing, neutral tones.  Two long leather couches sat against two of the walls, fronted by a low slung glass table that was liberally scattered with sports magazines.

To the right, an attractive young woman sat behind a large reception desk.  The receptionist smiled as Hodge entered.  “Good morning, Ms. Hodges.”

Taken aback for a second, Hodge quickly recovered and returned the young woman’s smile.  “Good morning.”

“I’ll let Mac know you’re in.  He should be out in just a minute.”

Hodge waited patiently as the receptionist made a short phone call.  True to her word, within a minute, the door to the inner office opened and Mac strode into the room, a beaming smile on his face.  “It’s good to see you again, Catherine,” he exclaimed, grasping her hand in a firm shake.  “Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you, Mr. MacKenzie.  It’s good to be aboard.”

“Ah—Mac, please.  Otherwise I’ll think you’re talking to my dad.”

“Mac it is then,” Hodge returned, grinning.

“Good. Glad we got that settled.”  Mac looked around the otherwise empty outer office.  “Your lawyer’s a little late, I see.”

“Actually, he’s going to be a lot later.  He called me late last night to tell me he wasn’t going to show.  Something about some Hollywood starlet he’s representing.”

“Oh.  Well, that might pose a bit of a problem.  Since you’ve never signed a contract before, I’m not sure how comfortable I feel negotiating it without you being represented.”

“Well…is it unethical to let me take a look at it?  I promise not to sign anything until I’ve found another lawyer.”

Mac was silent for a moment, considering.  “I suppose it can’t hurt anything.  C’mon.”

They walked into Mac’s office and sat down at the conference table.  Mac handed over a thick, bound document.  Hodge stared it in disbelief.

 “What, you thought it was gonna be a couple of pieces of notebook paper stapled together,” he teased.

“I had textbooks smaller than this in college!”

Mac laughed.  “Welcome to the world of professional sports, Cat.”

Opening the cover, Hodge was immediately assaulted with so much legalese that her Latin teacher wouldn’t have been able to decipher it.  Mac walked her through each section of the contract, explaining as best he could what was represented in the paragraphs. 

When he got to the salary section, Hodge tried her best not to show her surprise.  She’d known going in that the base rates—for rookies especially—were nothing short of pitiful.  Though higher than a teacher’s starting salary, it wasn’t by much.  The number she saw displayed before her was a good deal more than she’d been expecting.

She rose her eyes to Mac, who smiled.  “You were the first pick in the draft,” he explained.  A long finger pointed to the next paragraphs.  “I’m authorized to give you a tenth of your base salary up front as a signing bonus.  Then you have the standard incentive bonuses, both individual and team.  The better you do, and the better we do, the more money comes in.”

“That makes sense,” Hodge agreed.

“You’ll also receive a percentage of any team merchandise that features you exclusively, including posters, jerseys, caps, and jackets.”  He flipped a page.  “And here are the endorsement clauses.  All endorsements need to be cleared through the team first, because your identity will be tied up with the team.”  Another page.  “This is your housing allowance.  If you don’t have a realtor, I can give you a few names.”

“Dylan gave me the name of hers.”

“Good choice.” 

The next half hour was spent discussing the health and life insurance benefits displayed in the contract, and answering any questions Hodge had about what she read.

After there were no more questions, Hodge stood and thanked Mac for his time.  Mac stood as well.  “Are you headed for home tonight?”

“No.  I’m booked for the week.  I figured I’d take that time to contact the realtor, but now it looks like I’m gonna be phoning lawyers.”

“Do you have any in mind?”

“No, but I’ll look for one, that’s for sure.  I’d like to get this contract signed.”

“Why don’t you go ahead and get with the realtor.  Let me see what I can do from the lawyer end.” He held up a hand.  “No, I’m not talking about retaining one directly for you.  Just let me call around and see who’s available, alright?”

Hodge grinned.  “Thanks for doing this for me.”

“No sweat.  Let me make a few phone calls and see what’s up.  Do you have the number where you’re staying?”

Hodge handed over a slip of paper with her phone number written on it.

“Good.  Ok, you go on, relax, meet up with the realtor, and I’ll see what I can do from this end, ok?”

“Sounds good.  Thanks again.”

“No sweat.  Now g’wan, get outta here so I can get to work.”

As soon as Hodge left the office, Mac crossed to his desk and picked up the phone.

*******

Groaning, Dylan lowered herself onto the couch and propped her leg on the two pillows situated for that purpose.  Covered with three bags of ice and wrapped in an ace bandage, her knee throbbed like a rotted tooth.

She had no sooner settled into a somewhat bearable position when Brunhilde trotted over, sat, and with a sigh worthy of a martyred mother, put her large head on Dylan’s bare belly.  “I know, I know, I overdid it.”

Baleful eyes blinked up at her.

“Well you try spending more time up in the air than on the ground and see what it does for your conditioning!”

Brunhilde sighed again.

“Thanks for the sympathy, sweetheart.  See how many treats you get from now on.”

The Doberman wuffed softly at the sound of one of her favorite words, but when no such treat was immediately forthcoming, she rested her head on her master’s belly again.

“It wouldn’t have been so bad if your fleabitten excuse for a brother hadn’t decided that a fast break drill was the perfect time to suddenly learn how to play fetch.”  She looked around.  “Speaking of which, where is the old fleabag anyway.”

Lifting her head, Brunhilde looked over her shoulder.  Dylan followed the gaze to see Siegfried sprawled out on his back, legs splayed to the wind, tongue out, drooling, and dead to the world.  Dylan snorted.  “Men.”

An annoying chirping sound caused Dylan to dig beneath her back for her cell phone.  Checking the caller ID, she flipped the phone open.  “Yeah, Mac. What’s up.”

“Our chick has flown the nest.”

Dylan scowled.  “Did I just get dumped into a James Bond film when I wasn’t looking, C-7?”

Mac laughed.  “No.  Catherine Hodges just left.”

“That was pretty quick.”

“Would probably have taken longer, but her lawyer punked out on her, so I just took her through the contract and held off signing till she can find someone else.”

“Great.  You have anybody in mind?”

“No,” came Mac’s contrite response.  “I’m all tapped out.  I was hoping you could….”

“Fine,” Dylan sighed.  “Let me see what I can do.”

“Thanks, D!”

“You owe me for this one, Mac.”

“Yeah, yeah, put it on my tab.”

“Later.”  Dylan closed her phone just as the house phone began ringing.  Reaching behind her, she picked up the handset.  “Lambert.”

“Good afternoon, Ms. Lambert.”  The heavy southern twang of Horace Johnson’s voice oozed through the phone line and into Dylan’s ear.  Her lips curled up in disgust.

“Afternoon, Horace.  What can I do for you?”

“Well…I just got a call from the owner of the Tropics.  Seems his coach lobbied a sweet little deal for us, and you turned her down flatter than a two dollar whore.”

“That’s right, I did.”

“Mind telling me why?  Jack says our pick would have still been there in the second round.  Sounds to me like you might have put the cart in front of the horse.”

“Probably because I didn’t like the load of fertilizer she was trying to sell me.  Horace, you know as well as I do that Michelle Madison is an over-the-hill grunt with knees worse than mine. She won’t even pass a physical this season.  You know it, I know it, and the league knows it. Milton was trying to peddle her off to anyone blind enough to look twice at her.  And her second round picks were so low that we couldn’t have gotten anyone worth spit.”

“Still….”

“Still nothing, Horace.  Think about it.  They’re our conference rivals, and she was selling this shit just to get her hands on that hot new center.  You know…last year’s shot blocking leader?  Did you really want us to go up against that all season?”

“Well…I suppose you might have something there.”

“You know I do, Horace.  Catherine Hodges is going to lift this team to the next level.  I wouldn’t have picked her if I thought otherwise.”

“Still don’t like her, though.”

Pulling the phone away from her ear, Dylan contemplated slamming it several times against her table, then decided not to scar the wood.  “You don’t have to like her, Horace.  But I bet you’re gonna start liking her when you see the money she’s going to bring in.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I know I am.”

“Alright then,” he said after a long pause.  “Just remember our deal.”

“I remember, Horace.  Believe me, I remember.  Anything else?”

“Nope.  Goodbye.”

“Goodbye to you too, you sanctimonious, bigoted shithead,” she growled into an empty line.

She had just hung up the phone when it rang again.  “What the hell is this, Grand Fucking Central Station?!?”  She picked up the handset.  “Yeah!?”

There was a moment of silence before a hesitant voice came on the line.  “Is this Dylan?”

Dylan rolled her eyes to heaven.  “Yeah, Hunter, it’s me.  What’s up?”

“Are…you okay?”

Great.  Trade one shithead for another.  This really isn’t my day.  “I’m just fine, Hunter.  What can I do for you today?”  I know what I’d like to do, but I think it’s still illegal in most states.

“Well, I was getting worried because you weren’t returning my phone calls.”

“Well, Hunter, that’s probably because I was busy.  You know, with the draft and all?”

Comprehension dawned.  “Ohhh.  Yeah, I remember something about that.”

Dylan rubbed at the bridge of her nose, begging for strength.  “Is there anything else, Hunter, because I’m just about to step into the shower and….”

“Well yes, yes!  There is something.  My second movie is premiering on Friday at Mann’s and I was wondering if you could attend it with me?”

It was on the tip of Dylan’s tongue to refuse.  Her leg was shooting bolts of pain up into her belly, her head ached like an anvil had been dropped on it, and she really wanted to just find someplace cool and dark and curl up in a ball until it all passed. The thought of spending even one minute with the man on the other end of the phone made her guts churn.

Then a thought struck her.  A thought which caused a truly evil grin to spread over her face.  “Is your family going to be there?”

“Yes.”  The word was drawn out.  “But you don’t have to worry, they’ll be sitting behind us.”

Oh I’m not worried, Mr. Stud Wannabe.  Try touching me in the dark and you’ll be minus a few fingers.  “Hm.  Well, I don’t think I’m doing anything on Friday, so I suppose I could make it.”

“Great!  Great!  Wonderful!  I’ll have the Lear sent down to pick….”

“No, no.  That won’t be necessary.  I’ll just book a flight.”

“But Dylan….”

“I said I’d take care of it, Hunter.  Will that be all?”

“Well…I guess so.”

“Good.  I’ll see you Friday, then.  Goodbye.”

She hung up the phone with a sense of dawning relief.  “Well, girl, looks like I just killed a couple of birds with one stone.”

Brunhilde cocked her head, and Dylan laughed, suddenly feeling much better than she had not a minute before. 

********

Camera flashes turned night into day as Dylan stepped out of the limousine, grasping the chauffeur’s guiding hand and straightening to her full height.  Hunter stepped out behind her, laying a gentle, if proprietary, hand on the small of her back.  His thousand megawatt smile outshone all the lights as he looked upon the teeming, fawning crowd.

Of course, he had every reason to smile.  His new movie was a hit before it had even been released, and he had on his arm one of the most beautiful women in the world. 

Dylan was stunning in her black, silk dress.  Cut to mid thigh, it had spaghetti straps and a neckline deep enough to tantalize. Her hair flowed freely over her shoulders and back, and small diamond studs winked brilliantly in her ears.

The two began to walk the gauntlet of paparazzi, smiling and nodding with practiced ease while avoiding the outstretched arms of a crowd straining the barriers on either side of the carpeted walkway.

The theater, by contrast, was quiet and dim.  Two uniformed guards escorted the pair down the carpeted aisle and into plush seats near the front where they would have an unobstructed view of the movie.  They remained, positioning themselves at either end of the row of seats, in order to keep the crowds away.

Dylan was, as always, less than thrilled with this.  While she valued her privacy, and understood the need for security measures in some public venues, she hated the obvious lines drawn between what the public perceived as the “haves” and the “have nots”. 

Still, she reminded herself of the reasons for being in this place, and resolved to grin and bear it as best she could.

She surprised herself by actually enjoying the movie.  It was a light romantic comedy that was a vast departure from Hunter’s usual “he-man” roles, and he was quite good in it.  Ever gracious, she told him as much, and by the smile on his face, one would have wondered if she had just accepted a proposal of marriage.

The two ran the gauntlet again on their way back to the limousine for a quick trip to the post-premier party being held at a popular, and trendy, nightclub nearby.

Once they were inside the already packed club, Hunter’s agent swept him away to meet with the fawning critics, leaving Dylan blessedly alone at last.  The throbbing bass made her eardrums vibrate as she made her way to the bar to order a mineral water from a starry-eyed bartender.

Turning her back to the bar, she sipped the water as she eyed the crowd.  Her height, easily topping all but the very tallest men, gave her a decided advantage, and her eyes lit up with a predatory gleam as she spotted exactly who she was looking for shaking it up on the dance floor.

Easing her way through the crowd with sinuous grace, she approached the dance floor and laid a hand on the shoulder of her prey, causing the tousle-headed brunette to jump and spin and almost land in Dylan’s arms.

The young woman’s eyes widened.  “My shrink was wrong,” she breathed.  “There really are Goddesses still roaming the earth.”

Dylan rolled her eyes, grinning.  “Evening, Haley.”

A slow smile lit up Haley’s face.  “Dylan Lambert.  God, it’s good to see you!” 

The two women hugged, then pulled slowly away.  “Jesus, Dylan…you look fantastic!”

“You’re not looking so bad yourself, my friend.”

“Maybe not, but…wow!  What are you doing here?  I mean…this isn’t exactly your type of hangout, you know?  And this getup!”

Dylan laughed softly.  “I see you and your brother still aren’t talking.”

“Hunter?  What does he….”  Her dark eyes widened again.  “You?!  You’re his date for the premier?!?  Damn!  If I would have known that, I’d have gone to the damn thing!” 

“Yeah.”  Dylan looked around.  “Can we go someplace a little quieter?”

Haley grinned.  “Lead on, baby.  I’m allll yours.”

Shaking her head, Dylan led them to a small enclosed patio at the rear of the club.  The night was blessedly cool and quiet.  “I need to ask you a favor.”

“Oh yeah?” Haley asked, grinning and moving closer to her tall companion.  “What kind of favor?”

“Slow down, Romeo,” Dylan said, putting a hand on Haley’s shoulder.  “A business favor.”

Haley pouted.  “I haven’t seen you in months and you want to talk about business?”

“Yes.  I do.”

“Alright,” she replied, sighing.  “What do you need.”

“I need you to represent my first pick, Catherine Hodges.”

Haley’s brows knit.  “Me?  Why?”

“Because you’re the best,” Dylan replied.  “And because she needs someone like you.”

“Someone like….?  Oh!  You mean because she’s gay.”

“Yes.  She’s gay.  And because of that, she’s going to have one hell of a time getting someone to fairly represent her.  We both know it's true.”  Frustrated, Dylan turned and stared over the stone wall into the darkness beyond.  “I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t think it was important.”

Haley, normally a cool, competent, and yes—sometimes slimy—lawyer felt an unexpected burst of compassion for her normally unflappable companion.  Closing the distance between them, she laid a gentle hand on Dylan’s back.  “Aww, D, you know I’ll help.  I saw her at the press conference.  She seems like a good kid.”

“She is.  But she’s also just out of college, and is used to having people accept her for who she is.  This is gonna be a big transition for her, and she’s going to need all the help she can get.  I’d like you to be that help, Haley.  You represent a number of well-known gay entertainers, and you know your way around the system.”

“I’ll give her a call tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you.”

Haley smirked.  “You’re welcome.  Now, what’s in it for me?”

Dylan turned, and leaned down slowly so that a hairsbreadth separated their lips.  Haley closed her eyes, her heart thundering in her chest.

“My…eternal…gratitude.”

Haley finally opened her eyes to find Dylan standing several feet away from her.

“You shit!!”

Dylan smirked.  “A pleasure doing business with you, Haley.”

“God damn you, Dylan Lambert,” Haley said, laughing.  “You should have been a lawyer.”

“Mm.  I’ll consider that a compliment.”  Dylan put a companionable arm around the smaller woman’s shoulders.  “C’mon, let’s get back to the ‘party’.”

*******

Hodge lay sprawled on her hotel bed, watching television and waiting for the phone to ring.  Mac had called her on Thursday telling her to expect a phone call regarding a lawyer either Friday evening or Saturday morning.  It was now Saturday evening, and the expected phone call still hadn’t come through.

She raised the remote and pointed it at the television, listlessly flicking through the channels yet again.  Nothing caught her interest, and she dropped the remote back onto the bed, sighing.  Hodge was the type of woman who needed activity in her life, and as far as she was concerned, sitting in a hotel room on a Saturday waiting for the phone to ring ranked at the very bottom of her preferred activities list.  Especially when she’d been doing it all day.

Flopping onto her belly, she grabbed the book she’d brought from the hotel’s gift shop and started thumbing through it, not really reading the words.  Moments later, she fell asleep out of sheer boredom.

An hour passed unrealized. Then another.  A third was ready to make an appearance when the phone rang, startling Hodge out of a deep slumber.  Muzzily, she felt around for the phone until her hand struck it, almost knocking it off the night stand. 

“Hello?”

“Catherine Hodges?”

The slight New York accent sounded familiar, but Hodge’s cobwebby brain couldn’t quite place it.  “Yes?”

“Hi, Catherine.  My name is Haley Locke.”

Again, something familiar.  This time, a name.  But still, her mind wouldn’t cooperate.  “May I help you?”

The laugh that came over the phone was warm.  “Actually, I think I’m supposed to be asking you that question.”

Brows furrowed, Hodge swung to a sitting position on the bed, wondering if she had awakened in the Twilight Zone.  “Can we start this over, do you think?  I just woke up and my mind’s not quite in gear here.”

A moment of silence, then a slightly chagrinned voice came back over the line.  “I forgot the time difference.  I’m so sorry.  I can call again tomorrow, if that would be better for you.”

“No, no, it’s alright, Ms. Locke.”  Comprehension dawned.  “Haley Locke!  The agent!”

Haley laughed again.  “That’s me.”

“Oh God!  I mean…Mac told me to expect a phone call.  I just….”

“Fell asleep.”

Hodge rubbed a hand over her face.  “Yeah.  I’m sorry.”

“For sleeping?  Don’t be.  I should have called you earlier anyway.  I sometimes forget that not everyone operates on LA time.”  Haley shuffled the papers in her hands to cover an awkward pause.  “As you’ve probably guessed by now, the reason for my call is to ask whether you’ve obtained legal representation for yourself.”

“No,” Hodge replied.  “I had a lawyer, but he sort of ditched me at the altar the other day.”

“That’s a lawyer for you,” Haley commented, chuckling. 

“Aren’t you a lawyer?”

“Shh.  Don’t spread that around.  People might talk.”

Hodge found herself laughing, instantly at ease with the wise-cracking woman on the other end of the phone. 

“Well, your misfortune is, as they say, my good fortune.  If you’re planning on being in Birmingham for a little while longer, I’d like the opportunity to fly down and discuss the possibility of representing you.”

Hodge’s eyes widened.  “That would be…that would be wonderful,” she replied.  “I’ve extended my stay until Tuesday morning, if that helps.”

“Perfect.  I’ll fly down there and meet with you tomorrow evening.  If things work out between us, we can head over to the Badgers’ offices and take a look over your contract on Monday.  Sound good to you?”

“It sounds great!”

“Alright then.  See you tomorrow afternoon.  We’ll have lunch.”

“See you tomorrow, Ms. Locke.  And thank you.”

“It’s Haley, and don’t thank me until you’ve seen what I have to offer.  Night.”

Hodge hung up the phone, beaming.  “I go from no agent to the best in the business.  Whatever angel I’ve got sitting on my shoulder, thanks.”

*******

“Delta flight 274 to Boston now boarding at gate 24.  All ticketed passengers should proceed to gate 24 for boarding.”

 Hodge stood and slung her carryon over her shoulder, pulling her ticket out from the zippered pouch as she did so.  Handing the ticket to the gate agent, she passed through into the bright tunnel of the jetway, then touched, by force of habit, the plane’s outer shell for luck before stepping inside.

 A smiling steward led her into the first class cabin, and she sat down, luxuriating in the wide, impossibly comfortable leather seat.  Her original return ticket hadn’t been in first class.  It was just one of the many perks the human hurricane known as Haley Locke had negotiated for her.

 Truth be known, Hodge was still in a bit of a daze.  A daze that had started the moment the curly haired brunette blew into her hotel room, shook her hand, and pitched her spiel.  Hodge couldn’t have stopped her if she tried, and by the time Haley had paused for her first breath since entering the hotel room, Hodge discovered she didn’t want to try at all.

 There was good, and there was great.  Haley Locke surpassed both of those by a long country mile.  She was the kind of person who made you feel good; about yourself, and about her.  She would have made a great preacher, or a horrible one—the type who would lead you to a bridge and tell you to jump, and you would, willingly, a smile on your face as you plunged to your death.

 Lunch had turned into dinner, dinner had turned into drinks, and before Hodge quite knew what was happening, she found herself standing in front of Mac, Haley at her side.  Her only consolation was that Mac looked as stunned as she knew she did.  The expression on his face as he willingly handed over perk after perk would have been laughable if Hodge hadn’t been feeling exactly the same.

 She came away with more than she’d ever thought possible, along with a very nice signing bonus tucked comfortably in her wallet.  Part of that bonus was going to send her parents on the trip of their dreams.  They would fight it, she knew, but stubbornness was an inherited trait, and she had inherited it in spades.

 As the plane taxied to the runway and began to pick up speed, she stared at the ground rushing beneath her.  It was the perfect axiom for her life.

*******

Dylan used the hem of her jersey to wipe the sweat from her face.  The sun shone brightly down on the court, causing heat to rise up from the clay in wavy, visible lines.  Siegfried lay on his belly in the cool grass, head on his paws, eyes darting from the ball lying on center court to Dylan, whining.

 “Hush,” Dylan said fondly as she walked over to the stone bench and lifted a warming bottle of spring water to her lips.  Her cell phone rang just as she began to drink.  Wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she traded bottle for phone and held it up to her ear.  “Lambert.”

 “We’re even.”

 Dylan chuckled.

 “I’m serious, Dylan.  Everything I ever owed you is now officially paid back.  Understand?”

 Dylan laughed louder as she reached out for the water bottle and took a healthy sip.

 “Hello?”

 “I’m here, Mac.”

 “Yes, well, just remember….”

 “We’re even.  I’ll remember.”

 “Hmmph.”

 “Oh come on, Mac!  You put the job of finding an agent in my hands.  Who’d you think I was gonna pick, huh?”

 “Certainly not the Bride of Satan!!”

 “Oh, please.  She’s not that bad.”

 “Oh yeah?  I’m lucky she didn’t take the shirt off my back while she was at it!”

 Dylan grinned.  “She doesn’t swing that way, Mac.  Not even for a stud such as yourself.”

 “Ha. Ha.  That woman should be outlawed.”

 “Is the contract signed?”

 “Well, yes, but….”

 “Then everything worked out the way it was supposed to.”

 “For you, maybe.  When Johnson gets wind of this, I’ll be lucky to get a job digging ditches.”

 “Who says he has to get wind of anything?  As far as I can tell, the last time he looked at a player’s contract, Moses had just brought the tablets down from the mount.”

“Yeah, well if your mouthy little friend has anything to say about it….”

“Come on, Mac, you know better than that.  Haley might be hell on wheels, but she’s not a braggart.  She’s not gonna tell anyone anything about that contract.  And I don’t think Catherine will either.”

“I agree with you there.  She was about as flummoxed by Ms. Hot Shot New York Lawyer as I was.”

“Well there ya go then.  Maybe next time, you’ll stick to doing your own job instead of foisting it off on me, hmm?”

“Hmmmph.”

Dylan laughed.  “Bye, Mac.  I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.”

Ending the call, she tossed the phone back on the bench and finished off her water.  Siegfried, still as a statue, whined again.  Dylan rolled her eyes.

“Oh, alright.  Fetch!”

With a happy bark, Siegfried jumped to his feet and ran after the ball.  His huge mouth opened wide, and Dylan watched as sharp teeth, made to tear and rend, dimpled the ball’s tough skin.

“Pop it and you’re a throw rug.”

Siegfried whined, looking at her with sad eyes.  After a moment, he pushed the ball toward her, barking.

Dylan stuck a foot out and hefted the ball high into the air.  Siegfried barked again and leapt up, using his nose to bat the ball back to her.  Taking the pass, Dylan put up a sweet, easy shot from the top of the key, smirking as it went through without touching the rim.  “Nothin’ but net.”

Siegfried scrabbled after the ball, leaving claw scrapes in the brick colored clay.  A fast learner, he nosed the ball back to her, then leapt in the air, his teeth snapping as she kicked it to him.  The ball went off in an errant direction, but Dylan roped it in easily and, spinning, got off a shot whose arc was perfection itself.  The ball swished through the net, and Siegfried happily tore after it.

They played like that for some minutes until the dog’s tongue lolled out and his muscled sides heaved with the strength of his panting.  Still, he whined and shot her a pathetic look as she tucked the ball under her arm and gathered up her things from the bench.

“That’s enough for now, buddy.  Maybe later after it’s dark, alright?”

A happy bark was her answer, and, laughing, she walked up the short, partially wooded hill of her grounds and entered the house through the back door.  She chuckled again as Siegfried rushed past her, darted into the laundry room and was soon enthusiastically drinking from the toilet.

“Men.”

*******

Cat put the last box in the bed of her truck, a sturdy old Chevy S-10 that she’d owned since High School.  Turning, she found everyone standing on the porch staring at her with wide, sad eyes. She smiled and shook her head as she jogged back over. 

“I’m not leaving forever guys, come on don’t look at me like that.”

Her brothers all tried to give varying degrees of smiles. They weren’t as sincere as they could have been. “Now come on, I promise as soon as rookie camp is over and I have some free time I’ll either come back or bring you boys up. So just be good, okay?”

They nodded and then gathered around her for a hug, which she was lost in, completely covered by their warm, familiar and beloved bodies. When her brothers backed off her dad stepped forward.

“I’m so proud of you Cat. You’ve worked hard to get here. You deserve it.”

“I couldn’t have gotten here without you. I couldn’t have gotten here without my family. I love you.”

“Love you too sweetheart.” He hugged her, holding her close and kissed the top of her head. “You be good.”

“I will Dad.”

Once her father released her, Cat turned to see her mother standing alone on the porch, her eyes brimming with tears.  She walked slowly over and stepped up onto the porch, grasping her mother’s hands and holding them gently. “Now Mom, don’t do that because if you do I will.”

“Can’t help it Cat.” She wrapped her arms around her daughter. “My first born, the apple of my eye. I guess I couldn’t keep you from growing up, no matter how much I tried.”

“We tend to do that, Mom.”

“I know.”  Sighing, she pulled her daughter’s hands up to her chest.  “I still don’t know if this is the life I would have chosen for you, Catherine.  Filled with so much uncertainty.”

“Mom…”

“But…I realize that you’ve grown up to be a fine woman, Cat.  And any path you choose will be the right one for you.  I’ll worry, but that’s what mothers are supposed to do, because no matter how old you get, you’ll always be my baby, and I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Now you get down there and show those Badgers how things are done.”

Cat chuckled and wiped her eyes. “I’ll do my best.”

“And you better tell that Dylan Lambert to watch after you.  She may be taller than this house, young woman, but my wooden spoon is still faster than lightning and will tan her behind for her if she doesn’t.”

Cat broke into laughter at the mental image and pulled her mother close, hugging her tightly.  “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too.  Now go, before I lock you in your room and never let you out.”

Cat backed off and walked backward to her truck, waving the entire way. She got in and started the truck and backed out of the driveway. As she pulled out and drove down the road, she looked in her rearview mirror to see her brothers had run into the road, yelling and waving. She gave the horn a blast and drove toward her future.

*******

Part 2

Hodge looked at the key in her hand and at the door in front of her, smiling like the cat that ate the canary. Unlocking the door to her new apartment, she stuck her head inside as if she was expecting someone to be home. Too many years of living with family, friends and roommates had conditioned her to be cautious.

Once inside she looked at the bare dwelling. By her standards it was huge. She had gone for a loft apartment because the open feeling appealed to her; she had spent way too much time in dorm rooms and she liked the idea of spreading out. The down stairs was basically one large room with a living room and kitchen that could be set up any way she desired. The floor to ceiling windows on one wall made it bright and seem even larger.

There was a set of iron steps in the center of the room that curved up to the open second floor, where her bedroom and bathroom were. Of course right now the place was empty. Cat looked over at the small pile of her things in one corner. It consisted of five medium moving boxes, three suitcases and two duffle bags.

"Pathetic Hodge, just pathetic. You need stuff." She spun around in the center of the floor. "Lots of stuff."

Like the child she wasn’t that far removed from being, Hodge took off her shoes, leaving her in her socks, and took off running, skidding and sliding around on the freshly waxed hardwood floors.

Sliding into the kitchen, she grabbed hold of the counter to stop before she slid into the opposite wall. She opened the door to the fridge, opened the oven door, realizing that she couldn’t use it if she tried. Cooking was not her thing. Then she noticed the dishwasher and the microwave.

"This is good. Nuking I can do." Catherine Hodges didn’t have a clue that she was standing in a state of the art chef’s kitchen and it was possible than unless she got involved with a state of the art chef, she never would.

Climbing the steps to the second level she looked at the space that would eventually become her bedroom. Again, it was an open space with an iron rail to keep her from falling into the open floor below. One wall was outfitted with monstrous closets, more closets that Cat would ever require. When it came to clothes, she always looked great, but she was a minimalist.

The bathroom was well appointed and she nearly drooled when she saw the Jacuzzi tub in the center of the room. "Oh that’s going to be nice after a game."

Taking a deep breath she went back downstairs and simply laid in the center of the floor, giggling like a kid who had just been given the best Christmas present ever.

*******

Three days later, Cat pulled opened the door to find a delivery guy leaning on a box and chomping on a piece of gum.

"Delivery for Catherine Hodges."

"That’s me."

"Got yer furniture, lady."

"Great! I was getting a little tired of my sleeping bag. Great for camping, but on wood floors…." Putting her hands on her hips, she arched her back, groaning as the abused muscles along her spine forked out their protest. "You guys were supposed to be here yesterday."

"We got caught in traffic," the man replied drolly. "We tried to call but ya’ ain’t got no phone."

"Yeah, well the phone company didn’t show up either."

"Ever here of a cell phone?"

Hodge leveled a look at him, green eyes darkening a shade. "Just bring the furniture in, huh?"

The guy keyed the microphone on his lapel. "This is the place, bring the rest of it up." He tipped the handcart back and brought the boxes into the apartment. "Where do ya want these?"

"Pick an spot, any spot."

*******

After about thirty-five minutes the apartment was furnished. Now all Cat had to do was move the stuff were she wanted it. She had managed to convince the guys to carry the bedroom furniture upstairs. They looked like she had asked them to fly to the moon and back, but they did it.

Now her once empty apartment was filled with nice, new furniture. Her signing bonus had been a rather tidy sum, and while she was always careful with her money, she couldn’t resist the urge to splurge, just this once. The furniture she’d purchased was top of the line. Beautiful to look at, it would last her for a good long time.

As she moved the TV and stand into place against one wall she lovingly patted the 27 inch color set. "One of these days you’ll be a big screen with surround sound."

She was placing a few of her books on the bookcase when there was another knock on the door. Blowing a frustrated breath she opened the door once again the find the telephone guy.

"Hook up for Hodges."

"Finally! Come in."

The guy stepped inside and looked at his clipboard. "Okay it says here one jack in the living room one jack in the bedroom and you’re gonna buy your own phones."

"Right. Just as soon as all the people who are suppose to hook shit up arrive so I don’t have to stay here trapped like a rat all damn day."

"’Kay." He answered, obviously oblivious to her mini rant. "Where to you want it?"

She pointed to that wall by the counter that separated the kitchen and the living room. "Right there."

She went back to unpacking and moving furniture while the telephone guy did his thing.

"You aren’t by chance the Hodges that was drafted by the Badgers are ya?"

"Yeah I am. You a fan?"

"Nah, but my sister loves that shit. Her and her girlfriend have season tickets."

"Lovely." Hodge mumbled while shoving the couch into place.

"S’ppose I could get an autograph?" he asked when he was through, handing her an invoice for her signature.

Looking up into the man’s eyes, she noticed that he was completely serious. It was a surreal moment. "Um…sure…I guess."

"Cool," the man remarked, handing her a business card with the name of the furniture store on it as soon as she returned the signed invoice to him. "My sister’s gonna shit herself blind when she sees this."

Wrinkling her nose at the unappetizing sentiment, Hodge hurriedly signed the card and pushed it across to the grinning man. "There ya go."

"Right on!" He looked hurriedly around the apartment, then back to Hodge. "Say, you don’t happen to have anything with that coach of yours’ autograph on it, do ya? Man, talk about stacked!"

The growling sound coming from his throat caused Hodge’s nose to wrinkle again. "Uh..no. Sorry."

"Damn," the man sighed. "Oh well, if ya ever do, let me know, will ya? Name’s on the invoice."

Hodge plastered a bright, if totally false, smile on her face. "I’ll do that," she said, taking his arm and leading him to the door.

An hour later, the cable guy, who actually turned out to be a very nice looking woman, showed up. Hodge grinned happily as she lead the woman into the living room.

"You know, you’re the only on who’s been on time," she commented, eyeing the attractive young woman.

"Only one?"

"Sorry, utilities. Everyone else has been a day late."

"Figures." She stripped a wire and then crimped and end into place. "We have a policy that if we’re not here when we say, your first month’s service is free. Boss hates giving away free things."

Cat chuckled and leaned on the kitchen side of the bar, looking at the nice view the installer presented her as she bent over to make the connection. "I’ll bet."

The installer smiled to herself, well aware she was being watched. She fiddled with the connection a little longer than she needed to, then slowly straightened and turned, bestowing her very attractive customer with a rakish grin. Walking over, she gave Hodge the new remote and a business card. "You should be all set. If you ever need…anything…call the number on this card and I’ll be happy to help you out."

"I’m sure you will," Hodge replied, treating the woman to a flirtatious grin and deliberately brushing her fingers against those which held the business card.

The cable installer flushed a brilliant red and Hodge pulled back, a bit chagrinned to have flustered the other woman. Clearing her throat, she gave a more genuine, friendly smile. "Thank you," she said warmly. "I really appreciate your assistance."

"N-no problem," the installer all but squeaked. She edged toward the door. "I’ve…uh…gotta run. Another appointment, don’t wanna be late."

"Boss hates giving away free stuff. I remember."

"Yeah. Well..um…see you around."

"See you," Hodge replied, grinning as the slightly older woman slipped quickly out of the apartment.

The door closed, and Hodge put her hands on her hips, laughing. "I feel like I just woke up in the Twilight Zone."

*******

Dressed in her practice jersey and a pair of long black shorts, her duffle bag over her shoulder, Hodge walked into the Horace T. Johnson Arena. The venue was only three years old, and sparkled with newness. Showing Johnson’s ambition, it had seats for forty thousand, even though the average home attendance was usually five to ten thousand fewer per game. Mirrored plexiglass fronted several exclusive—and expensive—skyboxes put there for the enjoyment of the rich and famous.

The court itself was varnished to a high, glossy shine. The butter colored wood was pleasing to the eye, though it contrasted less than wonderfully with the giant purple and black badger logo in the direct center.

The key, end and sidelines were a deep black stripe, while the three point arc was a deep purple. The nets were stiff and brilliant in their virgin whiteness, hung around deep red rims attached to clear plexiglass backboards.

The soles of Hodge’s basketball shoes squeaked loudly in the almost oppressive silence, and she spared a moment to wipe off the excess moisture with her hands before moving toward the brightly lit locker room.

"Oh, I can see I’m gonna be hating this color scheme in about a week," she remarked softly as she entered the huge purple and black locker room. "God, this looks like a bad LSD trip!"

The floor was black tile, the ceiling purple cork. The lockers stood at silent attention, like soldiers dressed, alternately, in black and purple uniforms, ready for war. Near the far corner, Hodge spied her locker, painted a gleaming black. Her name was at eye level, printed carefully on a blinding white strip of con-tac paper with her jersey number beneath it. Setting her duffle on the bench, she opened the good-sized locker and saw the rest of her uniforms waiting complacently.

"Not bad," she murmured, running her fingers across the soft fabric and imagining the day—not so far away now—when she’d have the pleasure of donning one for real. For just a moment, the noise of an excited crowd floated into her mind, interspersed with the sounds of basketballs being bounced on varnished courts and slipping through stiffened nets. A beautiful smile curved her lips—the smile of a child on Christmas morning.

Her daydream was interrupted by a soft clearing of the throat, and when she turned, she saw a tall woman, perhaps two or three years older than her, looking at her with a shy smile. "Hello," the woman said in heavily accented, though easily understood, English.

"Hello," Cat replied, smiling.

The woman took a step forward, long fingers fumbling with the straps to her duffel. "You are… Ecaterina Hodges, yes?"

Cat’s smile broadened. "Yes, I am."

The woman looked relieved. "I thought so. I…saw you on television. You are very good."

"Thank you."

There was a moment of silence before the woman’s head ducked, and she blushed. "I am sorry. My manners…." One hand came away from the duffel and extended as the woman approached. "I am Anya Seletskaya. From Belarus. I am here to try out for a place on the Badgers."

Hodge immediately gripped the young woman’s hand, giving it a firm shake. "It’s very good to meet you, Anya."

"And is good to meet you as well." Anya looked around, as if for the first time. Her lips pinched inward as her eyes widened. "This is…."

"Dead ugly," Cat finished for her, grinning.

Anya looked at her, surprised, then laughed. "I’ve seen uglier," she commented, "but never on purpose!"

Noises from behind them stirred the two women into action, and they packed their gear in their lockers, then turned and eased their way through the small crowd of chattering young woman entering the locker room, arms spilling with gear.

A moment later, they were both on the court and, with the ease of long habit, Hodge moved to one sideline and began her stretching routine, smiling as Anya joined her. Her body submitted to the gentle stretching without complaint, despite the enforced break in her usual routine. She’d taken Dylan’s words to heart, however, and no matter the details of her day, managed to put in at least three miles worth of running each morning. She knew the extra effort would be worth the annoyance endured. She’d never been that fond of distance running.

As she stretched, her eyes idly captured her teammates as they streamed onto the court, laughing and jesting with one another without a seeming care in the world. Part of her envied them their lightheartedness. Her breakfast of dry toast and juice was sitting leaden in her belly as skitters of nervous anticipation danced over her slowly warming muscles.

The laughter and talk that echoed through the massive arena slowly faded away as two women, both in their early thirties and dressed identically in black nylon sweats and golf shirts, entered the venue, whistles around their necks and basketballs under their arms. Hodge recognized the first woman easily, having seen her on television any number of times over the years.

Diana Caulley was the first assistant coach of the Birmingham Badgers. Standing five feet, eleven inches tall, she was fit and well formed, with sandy hair that curled around her collar and deep set, intelligent gray eyes that missed very little. A shoulder injury had ended a promising career in her rookie year, but she’d parlayed her love of basketball and a keen intelligence into a coaching job and never looked back.

The woman standing beside her was one that Hodge didn’t recognize, but to judge by the woman’s body-builder’s stature and the chiseled, no nonsense expression on her face, she had a feeling that a less than pleasant acquaintance would be drawn up in the not-too-distant future.

So thinking, she slowly rose from her place on the varnished court and moved to join her fellows in a rough semi-circle before the two women, waiting for the fun to begin.

Diana’s eyes narrowed as she took in the nine women standing before her. She recognized them all, of course, having been instrumental in bringing almost half into the sites of one Dylan Lambert and setting up this opportunity for them to show what they could do. They were veterans, cut from other teams, or in the case of Anya Seletskaya, lured away from less than lucrative foreign contracts and into the bright lights of a new opportunity.

The rest were draft picks, fresh from college and chosen by Dylan’s own hand. Of the nine, only four would emerge to fill the vacant slots on an already established team. It was Diana’s job to help cull the wheat from the chaff and to put forward only those worthy of their contracts. It was duty she considered almost a sacred rite, and she was very, very good at her job.

Each pair of eyes met hers, then darted away, message received.

Satisfied, Diana smiled. "Welcome to the Badgers."

There was a soft murmur as the women returned her greeting.

"I’m Diana Caulley, first assistant coach, and this," she said, indicating the 5’9" mass of muscle to her left, "is TJ Barnes, strength and conditioning coach. For the next three weeks, we are all going to get to know one another very well indeed." Her smile broadened, thin lips curling into more than the hint of a smirk. "And in order for us to do that with as much ease as possible, here are a few, non-negotiable, ground-rules."

One hand uncurled from her hip, long fingers splaying to tick off the pertinent points. "First…this is called ‘rookie camp’ for a reason. I don’t care if you’ve been playing in the league for years or if the ink’s still wet on your sheepskin. You’re all rookies here, and you’ll be treated that way until I say differently. Is that understood?"

More quiet murmuring.

"Good. It’s best to get that out of the way first. There aren’t any prima donnas here. First round draft pick," and this was said with a long, hard, significant look in Hodge’s direction, "or walk on, everyone is at the bottom rung of the ladder until they prove otherwise. Leave your egos at the door, ladies."

Good God, Hodge thought, this woman is a walking cliché.

Gray eyes met hers again and Hodge resisted the urge to swallow hard. She knew her sentiment, at least in part, had been read and the battle lines drawn.

Great. Just what I need. The drill sergeant from Hell on my ass my first day. What is it with me and lousy first impressions anyway?

The assistant coach continued on. "From Monday through Saturday, seven am until seven pm, you all belong to me. You will eat, breathe and sleep Badgers’ basketball. When you’re not here, you’ll be home, studying the playbook until every single punctuation mark is stored in your brains. You will not drink, smoke, party or otherwise get yourselves into trouble or you’re out the door, contract or no. Am I making myself clear?"

Nods all around.

"Alright then. Let’s see what you ladies are made of." The smirk fully bloomed as Diana turned and gestured to the large arena. "Four times around, if you please, and make sure you hit every step." A sharp blast of her whistle punctuated Caulley’s order, and the women were off and running into the stands.

Hodge might not have cared for running, but she did it well, easily pacing herself as she hit the first set of stairs and started upward. Her father had long been a proponent of "slow and steady wins the race", and she’d never seen the need to separate herself from his apt philosophy.

Slipping into an easy rhythm, she allowed her body to carry her along mindlessly as she concentrated on the rest of the group. Two young women, tall, thin, and looking enough alike to be twins, were far ahead of the rest, playing rabbit. They’d tire soon enough, Hodge predicted, confident in her own abilities.

The rest of the small group strung along in a line, one behind the other, each slipping into her own favored stride. Anya was close behind Hodge, very light on her feet despite her stocky size.

By the end of the second lap, the rabbits were slowing and, setting her jaw, Hodge began to reel them in like fish on the line.

She led them out of the stands and onto the court, her lungs and legs burning in equal measure. On the whole, however, she was satisfied with her performance.

Caulley, on the other hand, looked as if she’d bitten into a particularly sour lemon as she stared down at the stopwatch clutched tightly in one hand.

"Abysmal, ladies," she stated flatly, walking over to the gasping group. "Just abysmal." Several blank faces staring back at her caused the pinched look to deepen. "That means ‘bad’, Coles."

Coles, a rangy forward who’d been drafted in the third round, flushed and looked away.

Caulley shook her head, and turned to her conditioning coach, speaking in a loud stage whisper. "Remind me to steer my nieces away from UC Berkley."

Coles’ flush deepened, now tinged with anger as well as embarrassment.

Caulley smirked. "Don’t sweat it, pumpkin. I’m sure those underwater basket weaving classes taxed you to your limit, hmm?"

Coles’ mouth opened, then closed, and her throat worked as she swallowed her words.

Caulley smiled. "So, you have some brains up there after all. Good." She gave each member of the group a pointed look, stopwatch dangling loosely by its strap. "I should make you run the arena again until you take at least twenty seconds off this crappy time, but I’m in a good mood today."

Nine sets of shoulders sagged in relief.

"So we’ll do windsprints instead."

Nine groans echoed through the empty building.

Caulley smirked again. "Two lines, ladies. Get ready to go on my whistle. Ready? Go."

*******

Hodge groaned with pleasure as she slid down in the tub until her chin touched the swirling water. Though she would have rather had her eyes plucked out with rusty spoons than admit it aloud, her body ached from the day’s labors. Caulley and her partner-of-few-words were true taskmasters, though she had to admit they were very good at their jobs. In one day of practice, she’d come close to learning more than during the four years she’d spend at UCONN.

"You’re not in Kansas anymore, Cat," she muttered to herself as one slightly wet hand reached out to grab the thick playbook resting on the tiled floor.

She’d already leafed through the book half a dozen times, looking at the plays and their attendant diagrams with interest. What she saw both surprised and pleased her.

"Dylan drew up these plays, you dolt," she chastised herself. "That alone should tell you they’d be anything but run-of-the-mill."

With a bit of chagrin, she admitted to herself that, given the relative youth of the team, and the attendant lack of wide ranging experience, she had expected an offense heavy with plays that emphasized a ball-control, clock-eating, half-court scheme.

Low scoring, perhaps, but usually effective against bigger and more experienced teams.

Instead, she found herself looking at plays that emphasized what was sometimes called a "run and gun" offense; an offense which was very much like what many, if not most, professional men’s teams used—heavy in transition, all motion, utilizing the full court instead of just half of it.

Discovering this, she came to realize exactly why it was that she, of all players in the draft, had been chosen to lead this team.

A point guard in a run and gun offense didn’t have to be the best athlete on the court, just the smartest and the most unselfish. And Catherine Hodges had legitimate claim to both of those attributes.

In spades.

She’d led just such an offense for four years running, and while she was never the points leader, she’d led the conference in assists for three of those four years. She thought well on her feet, was quick, and an expert passer who could read defenses as well as anyone in the conference. Her three point and foul shooting abilities didn’t hurt either.

With a happy sigh, she closed the book, laid it back down on the floor, and sunk deep in the hottub, allowing the jets of water to work their magic on her aching muscles.

*******

The phone rang for the fourth time and Cat’s face dropped. "Come on, come on," she softly pled, needing to hear the sound of her mother’s voice. It wasn’t an urge that hit her often, but when it did, obstacles be damned.

"Hodge residence." The voice of her youngest brother croaked out against her ear.

"Hey butthead." She plopped down in the overstuffed armchair and proceeded to get comfortable.

"Hey Beavis. Whatcha doing?"

"Calling to see how ya’ll are surviving without me?"

"Eh, you know, the dork level in the house went down ten points when you left." He giggled, having ‘gotten off a good one’ as the household was fond of saying. Cat could tell one of her other brothers had used the line previously and he willingly repeated it, passing it off as his own.

"Love you to brat. Mom home?"

"Of course. She baking pies for the PTA bake sale Friday."

"Peach or apple?"

"Yup."

Hodge’s stomach growled at the mention of her mother’s pies. "Has she got time to talk to me?"

"I dunno let me ask her."

Cat pulled the phone from her ear when he let loose a blood-curdling yell into the speaker. Wincing, she scowled at the phone, silently vowing to Indian rope burn her brother to within an inch of his life the next time she saw him.

"Catherine? Honey are you all right?"

Putting the phone back to her ear, Cat swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat and smiled as she answered quietly. "Hi Mom."

"Honey what’s wrong?"

"Nothing’s wrong Mom. I just wanted to call and see how you guys were doing."

"Well, we do miss you a lot. Your father has done nothing but grumble about the boys beating him at basketball ever since you left."

Cat grinned and settled into the chair, throwing a blanket over her legs. "I’m sure he’s fine. He always grumbles."

"This is true. How are things going for you?"

The sound of her mother piddling around the kitchen brought a smile to Cat’s face. It was the sound of home that she found herself missing very much. "Okay. I mean great, but they’re working my butt off and I came home from practice the other night feeling like I was going to die. Coach is fantastic, but damn she doesn’t let up for even one minute. One of the girls puked."

"Catherine! I’m fixing pies here, if you don’t mind."

"Sorry." Hodge held the phone closer, trying to get as close to her mom as possible. "I miss you guys."

"And we miss you too. You know you can always come home honey. We won’t think any less of you for it."

"I know, but I won’t. I’m doing something important here and I intend to stick with it. It’s just hard being away from home right now. It feels permanent, ya know?"

"It’s the first time you’ve ever been away from home and truly on your own honey. Even in college you came home once a month."

"I know and this feels different."

"But this is always your home and you can come back anytime."

"Thanks. I think that’s what I needed to hear."

"And Catherine?"

"Yes Mom?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Mom. Talk to you soon."

"Bye sweetheart."

Hodge placed the receiver in the cradle then curled up in the chair, pulling the blanket over her body and staring out the window of her apartment at the lights of the city. "I love you, Mom."

*******

The sound of the whistle’s sharp blast echoed through the cavernous arena.

"Damnit, Hodges," Caulley screamed from inches away, "is this a new development or were you just born stupid?!?"

Gritting her teeth, Hodge resisted the urge to heft the ball in her hands and stick it where the sun never dared to shine. Instead, she concentrated on keeping her body relaxed and her thoughts clear. "Sorry coach," she said finally, once she could be sure her anger wouldn’t come through in her voice.

"Sorry? We’ve been at this now for two hours and all you can say is ‘sorry’??" Turning in a circle, Caulley addressed the rest of the team, her eyes wide with mock surprise. "Did you hear that, ladies? Catherine Hodges is sorry! Isn’t that special?" Hands on hips, she shook her head. "I hope you’re all in a forgiving mood at three am tomorrow morning when we’re still trying to get through this simple little drill."

The others shuffled their feet, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

With a noiseless sigh, Hodge dribbled the ball back to the endline and awaited Caulley’s next order.

In truth, it was a simple drill; one that Cat had run through a thousand times in the past. It was a drill that attempted to break a full-court press; something that Cat could normally do in her sleep.

The added wrinkle to this particular drill, however, was that Cat wasn’t allowed to use her natural quickness to avoid the trap block. Instead, she was required to dribble right into it, pull up, and look for an open teammate to pass to, while two hulking behemoths dressed like coaches waved their arms in her face. An additional problem was that the only teammates she could pass to were short guards who were guarded by very tall forwards every step of the way.

It made the situation difficult, to say the least.

The whistle blew, bringing Hodge back into the present, and she dribbled the ball toward the trap block, everything in her resisting the urge to exploit the space between her two defenders that one could have driven an entire herd of elephants through, were one so inclined.

Pulling up as ordered, she attempted to ignore the hands waving in her face. Out of the corner of one eye, she spied a fast moving blur moving to her right. In a move more instinctual than premeditated, she rifled a sharp blast toward the blur, all the while praying it was one of her own teammates.

Still blinded, she could only listen as the sounds of the ball being rapidly dribbled toward her goal reached her ears, followed by a long moment of silence, and then a noise which could only be the ball swishing sweetly through the net.

Then more silence, dragging on until it was broken by the deep velvet voice of one Dylan Lambert. "And that, ladies, is how you break a full court press."

Applause erupted, and Hodge stepped around her erstwhile defenders in time to catch both the smirk and the wink aimed her way. Helpless to do anything but, she grinned back and mouthed a heartfelt "thank you" to her savior.

One eyebrow raised, and the ball was launched back to her, hitting her hands hard enough to sting. As she gathered it in, her grin broadened and her heart felt lighter than it had in days.

*******

A slap on her back raised Hodge from her pleasant thoughts, and she turned to see Anya standing behind her, grinning like the cat who’d eaten the canary.

"Did you see the look on Caulley’s face when you made that pass? I thought she was about to birth an elephant!"

After checking over her shoulder to be see the woman in question deep in conversation with Dylan, Hodge allowed herself a broad grin and a laugh. "Serves her right."

"She’s a dragon lady alright," Anya agreed, chuckling. "So tell me, how did you know Coach Lambert was going to be there to receive that rocket you call a pass?"

"I didn’t. I saw a blur out of the corner of my eye and reacted." Hodge laughed. "Then I prayed."

"Somebody up there must like you, then."

Hodge looked over at Dylan, who was deep in conversation with her assistant coach. Caulley was red-faced, her arms gesticulating wildly over some point Dylan was making. After a moment, Dylan turned and walked off without so much as a backward glance. Hodge felt something in her belly shift. "I sure hope so," she murmured.

Caulley chose that moment to turn—still red-faced—in Cat’s direction, her eyes piercing and stormy. "Hodge, pack up your gear!" she yelled across the court.

Cat’s heart stopped, then fluttered several times. "Coach?"

"You heard me. Pack up your gear. You’re outta here!"

Hodge clenched her jaw and turned on her heel toward the bench where her towel lay. The scrimmage had stopped and everyone was watching as Hodge wiped her face with the towel before tossing it into the basket with the others. Two points. Fat lotta good that does me now.

"Everybody back to work." Caulley called to the others. "Go on, or I’ll have you doing windsprints till you’re eighty!"

The rest of the rookies quickly snapped to, though several gave Hodge pitying looks as they did so.

Cat took a deep breath and mentally ordered herself not to cry until she was well away from everyone. She had known it could end at anytime, that nothing in life was permanent. She had just hoped it would have taken a little longer.

Stupid, she whispered to herself as she crossed the court. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You should have known what was up three days ago, Cat. You obviously don’t have what they’re looking for.

She didn’t even bother trying to read the look on Caulley’s face as she headed for the locker room, already knowing what she’d find there.

The locker room was empty and cold as she opened her locker and grabbed her duffel. The cursed tears escaped their confinement and rolled silently down her cheeks as she fingered one of the uniform tops waiting so patiently for her to don it.

"Maybe next year, huh?" she whispered, causing more tears to fall.

With one last, long look, she quietly closed the locker, and trailed the tips of her fingers over the plate bearing her name which hung on the outside.

Using those same fingers to wipe away her tears, Cat turned and headed toward the door, only stopping when she pulled it open to find Dylan Lambert standing on the other side, striking and a bit intimidating in a uniform Hodge was sure she herself would never get the opportunity to wear.

Tears sprung up in her eyes again, and she wiped them away with a savage swipe of her hand. "Sorry Coach," she murmured, not able to meet the clear blue eyes that looked down at her. "I gave it my best shot, but I guess it wasn’t good enough."

Dylan’s eyes narrowed, then cleared as she put two and two together and immediately came up with four. Ah, Diana, my friend, I love you, but we’re going to have a long talk, you and I. Very soon.

Stepping away from the door, Dylan gestured toward the arena’s exit with a tilt of her head. "Follow me," she commanded softly.

Hodge followed numbly behind Dylan as the taller woman led them into the sunny warmth of the late afternoon and over to a smaller building several hundred feet away from the main arena. When they stepped inside, Hodge’s ears perked to the sounds of bouncing basketballs, squeaky sneakers, and the cheerful shouts of several women. She looked curiously at Dylan, but the smirk on the Coach’s face gave no clues.

Several steps later, and they were standing on the sidelines of yet another basketball court which was ringed on all sides by simple wooden benches and not much else. Cat’s eyes widened as she came to the realization that she recognized each and every single one of the women currently practicing on the court.

Angela Tippens, the six foot six inch center with the bleach blond hair and androgynous features, had been drafted from Australia two years back. With her ability to jump like a pogo stick coupled with her Australian heritage, she was immediately nicknamed ‘Roo’.

Shaniqua Chaney, six feet of cornrows, tattoos, piercings and attitude, had been drafted from Temple the year prior and had the makings of the best shooting guard in the league, taking a great number of cues from her idol, Allen Iverson.

Rosalie King and Marcette LeRoy were two potential-filled forwards from North Carolina, and Nanette Mackey, point guard and Tamara Stern, center/forward were two crafty veterans who’d played for several teams during their long tenure with the WBA.

Realizing she was looking at the starting lineup of the Birmingham Badgers, Hodge stared up at her Coach, her face one large question mark.

Dylan’s smirk became more pronounced. "Think you’re ready to swim in the deep end of the pool, Catherine?"

Hodge blinked once, then cleared her throat. "Excuse me?"

Dylan took a significant glance at the court, then back to her newest star in the making. Her eyebrow rose.

Hodge flushed, then paled as the realization stole over her. "You…you mean I’m not fired?"

Dylan snorted. "Hardly."

"But I thought…."

"I know," Dylan replied, her eyes warming. "And I’m going to talk to dear Diana about that this evening before she leaves for home. I pay her to be a bitch, but sometimes she goes a bit too far."

"So, does this mean…?"

"Yes it does." Dylan grinned. "Welcome to the Badgers, Starting Point Guard Catherine Hodges."

Scarcely aware of what she was doing, Hodge opened her arms and closed the small distance between them, clasping Dylan in a fervent, effusive hug. "Thank you so much!" Hodge’s voice was muffled against the fabric of Dylan’s jersey.

Dylan stiffened, stunned at the very unexpected action, then slowly returned the hug, albeit a bit awkwardly. "You’re very welcome."

The moment was interrupted by laughter and catcalls. Immediately mortified, Hodge pulled away, only now fully aware of her actions. Her face flushed a color that would have done an overripe tomato proud. "Oh my god," she moaned, dropping her head into her hands. "I did it again, didn’t I."

Dylan’s answering laughter was music to her burning ears.

*******

"Good afternoon and welcome to the Southern Sports Network ,television home of the Birmingham Badgers. I’m Todd Black and this is my co-host, the lovely Melinda Morton. We’re coming to you live tonight from inside the beautiful Horace Johnson Arena where the Badgers are set to open their season against last year’s WBA Champions, the New York Thunder. The house is pretty packed, Melinda."

"You’re right about that, Todd. A nice sized crowd has shown up tonight to see if Coach Dylan Lambert’s offseason wrangling has paid off."

"That’s true, Melinda. She’s made a lot of changes this year, including the shocker of the decade, her choice for first pick of the draft, the diminutive Catherine Hodges."

"Well, Ms. Hodges may be small, but she has heart, and she knows her way around a basketball court, leading her college team, the UCONN Huskies to an NCAA championship. It’ll be interesting to see how she fits into the new offensive scheme sources say Coach Lambert has spent the entire offseason developing and perfecting."

"Sounds interesting, Melinda. Anything else your sources have to tell you?"

"Not really, Todd. Just that this is an entirely new Badgers team, and that we should look forward to seeing some things we haven’t before from them."

"I’m sure we’ll all be keeping our eyes and ears open, then. And now, let’s get courtside and listen to the team introductions."

Hodge stood on the sideline, shifting back and forth on her feet and shaking her hands.

"You doin’ alright, Shortchange?"

Rolling her eyes at her new nickname, Hodge turned toward Shaniqua Chaney, who was standing beside her. "My stomach is a cave and the bats are rebelling."

Chaney laughed, making the black and purple beads at the ends of her cornrows click together. Hodge found the sound oddly comforting. "Don’t sweat it, Shortchange. Those bats’ll always be there. You just gotta use em in your favor." A careless hand swept forward to the entire arena. "Look at all them people up there. All of em’s waitin to see you fly or fall. You just tell yourself them bats are gonna help you fly."

Hodge couldn’t help laughing at the analogy, and the action caused her stomach to settle somewhat. "Thanks, Chane."

"Hey, no problem, girl. Let’s do ‘em."

The cheering crowd became silent as the public address announcer’s voice came over the speakers. Hodge’s stomach began to churn again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Horace Johnson Arena, the home of your Birmingham Badgers!"

Jumping to its feet, the crowd went wild, cheering and throwing purple and black streamers which littered the court.

"And here are your starters. A five foot six inch point guard from the University of Connecticut, number 33, Catherine Hodges!"

Hodge ran onto center court in a daze, barely hearing the cheering of the crowd. Though it was something she’d done more times than she could count during the past eight years of her life, and often in front of crowds much larger than this one, something about this night was different. It seemed almost magical somehow, dreamlike in a way that even the NCAA Championship hadn’t felt.

Before she knew it, she was surrounded by her teammates and was being escorted to the sidelines, watching as Dylan, dressed in a black suit with a blinding white shirt beneath, shook the hand of the opposing coach.

Cat blinked, then shook herself out of her daze when she realized that Dylan had joined the group and was imparting some last minute instructions.

"Alright guys," Dylan said, looking each player directly in the eyes, "play aggressive, play smart. Back each other up, and remember what we’ve been practicing." Looking around the circle, Dylan finally smiled as she saw the sea of determined heads nodding. "Alright. Let’s do it."

*******

The butterflies came back with a vengeance as Hodge returned to center court and waited for the game to begin. The running sweat of her palms dampened the fabric of her jersey as she wiped her hands in a nervous gesture.

The referee’s whistle blew, and the game was on.

Roo tipped the jump into Chaney’s hands. Chaney passed the ball to Hodge, who dribbled past half court and waited for the play to set up around her. The defense was easily read as man-to-man, and faced off against her was Tarma McKinney, the best point guard in the league.

Chaney broke free of her coverage and Hodge rifled a pass, which was immediately intercepted by McKinney, who took off down the court like a rocket and scored the game’s first two points with an easy, uncontested lay-up.

Cursing herself, Hodge stepped beyond the endline and took the ball, passing it to Chaney, then receiving it back and dribbling quickly past center court. A lane to the basket opened like Moses parting the Red Sea, and she went for it, managing to dribble into the paint before a dark hand shot through and relieved her of the ball neatly as you please.

Gritting her teeth, Hodge turned and ran after the thief, but McKinney’s speed was greater and again she was forced to watch as the veteran point guard scored an easy lay-up to make the score 4-0.

McKinney placed the ball on the endline, then turned, brushing Hodge’s shoulder with her own as she ran by. "Go back to the sandbox, scrub. You got no game."

"Don’t listen to her, Shortchange," Chaney advised as she handed the ball to Cat. "Bullshit’s the only thing that comes outta that mouth."

"I’ll try, Chane," Hodge sighed as she started back upcourt.

"You don’t try, girl. You do. This shit ain’t no different from what you’ve been through already. Suck it up and play."

*******

Standing on the sideline, Dylan resisted the urge to turn away as the approach of Diana Caulley registered in the periphery of her vision. "Save it," she snapped when Caulley got within range.

"That’s not why you pay me, Dylan," Caulley interjected softly. "You need to bench her. Now, before she becomes even more of a liability."

"I told you to save it," Dylan replied, turning and pinning her assistant coach to the floor with her glare. "She just needs a little time to get settled."

"How much time are you gonna give her, Dylan? Are you gonna wait until we’re so damn deep in a hole that we’ll never get out?"

"Enough," Dylan snapped, and turned away, putting an end to the conversation. She kept her gaze focused on Hodge as the young woman drove up and down the court, always in constant motion. To Dylan’s experienced eye, Cat had settled somewhat, but Dylan frowned as she realized the reason behind it.

As the point guard, Hodge chose the plays the team would use, and Dylan could tell that the young woman was choosing plays that kept her as far away from the action as possible.

She doesn’t trust herself, Dylan thought, gritting her teeth. Shit.

Her jaw clenched harder as she watched Hodge try a courageous block which, unfortunately, wound up in a shooting foul. That was followed up almost immediately by a second foul as Hodge pushed off on McKinney in order to get herself free to receive the inbounds pass from Chaney.

Two fouls in two minutes.

Her reluctant decision made, Dylan called out over her shoulder without ever taking her eyes from the action on the court. "Mackey!"

"Yes, Coach?"

"You’re in for Hodge."

"Ok, Coach."

Dylan watched as Hodge jogged from the court, sat on the bench, and covered her bowed face with a towel. She sighed softly and allowed the young woman to stew for a moment as she made sure Mackey was able to pick up the slack.

Assured, Dylan walked back down the sideline and squatted down in front of Hodge, laying a hand atop the point guard’s knee. "Hey."

Hodge looked up, an expression of abject misery darkening her eyes. "Hey, Coach." Her voice was little more than a whisper.

"You alright?"

Hodge laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. "I choked."

"Not yet, you haven’t," Dylan countered.

"Sure I have." She laughed again, a hopeless sound. "First round draft pick, next big star…."

Dylan’s eyes softened. "You can’t be a star unless you give yourself the chance to shine." She squeezed the knee under her hand. "You can do this, Catherine. I know you can. You know that too."

"How?"

The naked plea went straight to Dylan’s heart. Turning, she gestured to the action on the court. "Look at them, Catherine. Do you see anything going on there that you haven’t done a thousand times before?"

Hodge looked. After a long moment, she shook her head. "No."

Dylan smiled. "Exactly. You just need to take the confidence we both know you have in yourself and let it out. Just like every other time you’ve stepped on the basketball court."

"But this is different."

"Not really. It isn’t, Catherine. The only thing you’re lacking is professional experience, but that’ll come with every play, and every game. You have the skills. You have the heart. Now let’s see you use ‘em, alright?"

Not breaking Dylan’s gaze, Hodge took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She felt something within herself center and become calm. A smile came up from somewhere and she let it bloom on her face. "Okay."

Dylan allowed her own smile to broaden, and she slowly rose to her feet. "Go back in for Mackay. And when you do, I want you to use 43 Block 27."

Hodge’s eyes widened. "Coach?"

"Just do it."

"Okay, Coach."

The whistle blew, and Hodge ran back onto the court, wiping her hands on her jersey. Chaney greeted her with a grin and a slap on the behind. "Get ‘em, Shortchange."

Hodge nodded, then took her place behind the endline. With a sure pass, she rifled the ball to Chaney, who tossed it back to her on the run. Side by side they made it past half court. McKinney came in for a lazy steal, but Hodge drew the ball between her legs in a scissors dribble and easily evaded the other woman’s attempt.

She passed the ball to her left to her small forward, allowing King to use her body in a pick as Hodge eased behind her and onto an open spot in the corner, unguarded. The ball flew into her hands and left just as quickly, arcing through the air and through the net for a three point play.

The crowd cheered and Hodge pumped her fist as she backpedaled, then stepped in, returning a favor by stealing the ball from McKinney and dishing it off to a speeding Chaney for an easy lay-up.

The crowd cheered again, and Hodge shouted happily.

She was back.

******

"And that wraps up our coverage of the Birmingham Badger’s opening game, with the Badgers loosing a hard fought battle, 94 – 88. Any parting thoughts, Melinda?"

"Well, Todd, after a somewhat rocky start, Catherine Hodges showed flashes of why she was chosen by Coach Lambert as the first pick in the draft. With twelve points and nine assists, she was responsible for almost half of the Badgers’ offence, and she was a defensive dynamo as well, managing three steals against McKinney, arguably the best point guard in the league."

"I agree, Melinda. Her teammate Shaniqua Chaney, who led all scorers with twenty two points is also going to be a force to be reckoned with in the coming weeks. If they can just work on their defensive scheme and foul-shooting, I think Badgers fans could be in for quite a ride this season."

"Can’t say much more than that, Todd."

"Then I guess that about wraps it up. From all of us here at Southern Sports Network, here’s bidding you goodnight from Horace Johnson Arena where the Birmingham Badgers lose to the New York Thunder 94 - 88."

******

Cat stood at the top of the key bouncing the ball slowly, back and forth between her hands. She looked around the mostly dark arena. Everyone was gone now, and the only sound in Cat’s ears was the roar of a ghostly crowd that did its best to cheer the team to a victory.

"Sorry, guys," she offered to the net as she shot the ball at it like a missile. "Guess I blew it this time."

Her teeth bared in an expression that was half growl, half grimace as she caught the ball on the rebound. She hated losing. Hated it with every fiber of her being. And to know that the loss rested on her shoulders made an intolerable situation even worse.

"Shit. What a joke."

"What makes you say that?"

Cat’s head dropped when she heard the voice behind her.

"Well." Coach Lambert drew steadily closer, her steps resounding softly on the court floor. "What makes you think you’re a joke, Catherine?"

"Come on Coach." Hodge turned around to face the tall woman. "We should have won that game."

"Why? Those were last year’s champions. What makes you think we could have beaten them?"

"We’re better than they are."

"Are we?"

"Yes," Cat shifted on her foot. "Well the team is better than they are. I’m not sure I am. I choked."

"We already had this conversation. You did not choke. You lost your stride." A corner of Dylan’s mouth curved up. "Actually you didn’t lose it; you just had a hard time finding it." Dylan moved to where the ball had come to rest near the wall. She bounced it a couple times, enjoying the feel of it against her hand. She pulled it to her chest and fired it at Cat, who caught it smoothly.

"Why were you staying away from the ball, Cat?"

"I wasn’t."

"Yes, you were. Every play you called, put you as far away from the ball as humanly possible without you playing in another arena. Why?"

Hodge narrowed her eyes. "I’m the point guard. It’s my job to create opportunities for my teammates."

"Mm." Dylan pretended to consider Cat’s statement.

Hodge tried again. "The other players have more experience."

"And you’re going to get your own experience….how, again?"

Sighing, Hodge bowed her head, well and truly caught out.

"So, can I count on you being in the game and giving it one hundred percent next time around?"

Hodge felt her cheeks flush at the gentle reprimand. She nodded. "I promise."

"Good."

Cat passed the ball back to Dylan who stepped back to the perimeter and sunk a three pointer that seemed as effortless as breathing.

"How did you know I’d be here?" Hodge asked, curious.

"Because," Dylan passed the ball back and pointed at the net, indicating Cat should shoot, "when I was a rookie and a game didn’t end the way I wanted, this is always where I ended up. Running it through my mind and trying to figure out what I did wrong."

Cat shot the ball; it bounced off the rim and landed directly in Dylan’s hands. The Coach sent it back to the blonde. "Do it again."

"So when you were running it through, did you ever find the spot were you screwed up?" Cat inquired as she fingered the ball, twisting it in her hands.

"No." Dylan shrugged. "I found spots where I could have been a stronger player, but never where I messed up so much it cost us the game."

"So my little imitation of an ice cube in the first half didn’t cost us the game?"

"Do you think it did?"

Hodge sighed and shot the ball, rattling the rim several times before it slipped through. "That’s just the point, Coach. I don’t know."

Dylan’s gaze softened. "Trust me. If you had cost this team the game, I would have been the first to tell you. You had first game jitters, it happens. Hell it may happen again. Just don’t let it get you next time."

"Yes, Coach." Cat smiled and took another shot. The ball went in with the sweet sound of nothing but net.

"That’s more like it. So are you exhausted?"

"Actually believe it or not, I’m not. I’m kinda charged."

"Little one on one?"

"Against you?" Cat grinned and shrugged. "Sure why not, I’ve already had once ass whipping tonight, another one won’t kill me."

Dylan chuckled as she stripped off her sweat jacket. Cat noticed for the very first time, now that she was coming out of her funk, that the Coach had changed clothes. She swallowed hard when she got a good look at well-toned arms under the tank top.

Oh shit! Cat, don’t go there. Don’t do this to yourself. This is your coach, your hero. Your basketball idol. You cannot have those thoughts about her. Stop it!

"Earth to Catherine. Head out of the clouds please. Let’s go." She fired the ball at Cat and took up a defensive position under the net. "Come on Shortchange. Let’s see what you got against this old war horse."

*******

"That’s it! Game point." Dylan pulled the ball to her body and watched as Cat bent at the waist, trying to catch her breath. "You okay?"

"I’m…I’m…" She gulped. "Great. Damn." She wiped the sweat from her forehead as she looked up at Dylan who didn’t even appear to have broken a sweat. "Tell me again why you don’t play anymore?"

Dylan smirked and waggled her hand. "Eh, the knee still has its limitations."

"Bullshit."

"Excuse me?" Dylan’s brow rose as she tossed a towel to the rookie. "What did you just say?"

"I said," Cat paused to wipe off her face and neck, before looking at Dylan once again. "Bullshit. You’ve got more game in your little finger than the rest of us have in our entire bodies." She gestured to herself. "Look at me, I’m drenched. You ran me ragged out there and you never broke a sweat. I don’t know why you’re not playing Coach, but it ain’t because of that knee."

Dylan watched, slightly amazed as Cat gathered up her gear and the ball and headed for the locker room. "Well, well, looks like my little spitfire has gotten her spark back."

With Cat well out of sight, Dylan sat down on the bench and pulled up her sweat pant leg to look at her knee, which was just a little swollen, but not hurting too bad. "She may also have your number, Pallas. This could be bad."

The Coach rose from the bench and gathered her own gear before heading from the court. "Shit," she mumbled.

*******

"Alright, that’s a wrap ladies." Dylan tossed her whistle onto the bench and eyed each of her players in turn. "I want you showered, changed, and home in bed early. Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day."

Groans mixed with cheers as the players started for the locker room. Dylan shook her head and led her assistant coaches to her arena office, to ready the plays they would use for tomorrow’s game.

Two weeks had passed since their first game, and Dylan was well pleased with the progress the team was making. It was a slow process, but they were finally beginning to jell. Cat, in particular, had taken her advice to heart and was showing flashes of brilliance on the court.

They’d played another game in the interim, against the Seattle Charge who’d shared the cellar with them the year prior. The Badgers had won the game handily, by over twenty points, and Cat had earned herself a double-double with sixteen points and twelve assists. She’d shown absolutely none of the tentative play she’d displayed in the first game, and was beginning to become a true leader on the court. And off it, as well.

Tomorrow’s game would be a true test as they went up against Los Angeles, the best team in their division. To make matters worse, Dylan and the Los Angeles coach shared a long history, and none of it was pleasant.

Marcia Blanks had been a junior at Stanford when Dylan burst onto the scene. Once considered the best power forward in the game, bar none, Marcia’s thunder was quite easily stolen by the young hotshot from UCLA, who eclipsed Blanks’ records without much of an effort at all. She’d done the same once turning pro, and the relationship between them had gone downhill from there.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of her mind, Dylan concentrated on putting the finishing touches to the structure of the next game, then dismissed her assistants, intending to follow her own advice and get a good night’s sleep.

Dylan left her office and crossed back toward the arena proper. While still some distance away from the court, her keen hearing picked up the sound of a basketball hitting varnished wood, and she quickened her steps, a bit irked that someone obviously hadn’t understood her orders for an early night.

And yet it was with somewhat less than total surprise when she entered the arena itself to see the profile of Catherine Hodges, standing on the foul-line with a rack of balls at her side, sinking foul shots, one after the other.

When the rack was empty, Hodge stopped and turned toward Dylan, whom she’d heard enter moments before. A slight redness suffused her cheeks as she met her coach’s eyes, then disappeared as she lowered her head. "Hey, Coach."

"Mm," Dylan answered through pursed lips, left eyebrow slightly arched.

"I know…I know. I should be home now getting ready for bed. But I…um…." A sweeping gesture of her arm encompassed the rack and basket. Her blush deepened.

With that, the puzzle pieces came together and Dylan understood. Athletes, like actors, were on the whole a superstitious lot. Dylan herself had had her share of superstitions during her playing days, though none had, to date, moved on to her coaching career. "How many?"

The blonde head lifted, and Hodge smiled with relief at being understood. "Twenty."

"In a row?"

"Yeah."

Dylan nodded, impressed. "And you did it?"

"Just now, yes."

"Good. So you’re ready to head home?"

Hodge nodded.

"Alright. I’ll walk you to your car."

As they turned to leave, Dylan was stopped by a call from Mac, who entered the arena at a trot. Suppressing a sigh, Dylan turned. "Yes?"

"Can I talk to you for a minute? It won’t take long, but I’ve got a message from Johnson."

This time, Dylan did sigh, and turned back to Hodge, who smiled in commiseration. "I’ll be ok," Cat replied softly. "See you tomorrow?"

Dylan nodded. "Get a good night’s rest."

"I will. Night, Coach. Night, Mac."

With a final smile at them both, she turned and left through the main doors.

When the doors closed, Dylan rounded on Mac. "Alright, what was so important that you had to run down and find me at," she checked her watch, "nine thirty?"

Mac grimaced. "Johnson’s a prick."

Dylan’s eyes widened in faux amazement. "And this is a newsflash??"

"I’m serious, D. He wants you with him Friday night at a meeting of our corporate sponsors."

"No way. I handle the team, not the finances, Mac. You go hold his hand for him. Leave me out of it."

"No can do, I’m afraid. Boss man wants you."

"Why, for Christ’s sake?! Is the world ending??"

"You’d think so, the way he’s bitching." Mac sighed, and spread his hands. "Look, the sponsors are meeting over the gay thing."

Dylan’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. "The…gay…thing?"

Mac had the good grace to look embarrassed. "Yeah. Did you see the ‘Out and About’ this month?"

"Sorry, Mac, I’ve been a little busy. Reading trashy magazines right at the top of my to-do list, though." Her voice was heavy with sarcasm.

"Yeah, well, take a look at this." Reaching into his back pocket, Mac retrieved a rolled magazine and handed it to Dylan.

On the front cover was a woman in a Badger’s uniform, face blacked out. By the silhouette, it was obviously Catherine Hodges. In place of her face was a large white question mark. The blaring print over the picture read "WOMEN’S BASKETBALL: GAY MECCA?"

Dylan’s expression became granite. Only her eyes, which she raised to Mac, were blazing. "Tell me this is a joke."

"Wish I could D. It came out yesterday. Johnson’s been fielding panicked calls all day. The sponsors are threatening to pull out. He’s freaking."

The expletives that echoed through the large, empty arena would have done a sailor proud.

Mac’s ears were ringing by the time Dylan wound down, and he shook his head, knowing his friend was right. Still….

"I still think this meeting is a good thing, D. We need to nip this shit in the bud before it escalates. The threats have been bad enough."

Dylan froze. "Threats? What kind of threats?"

"Oh, you know. The usual ‘ride the lesbo bitch out of town on a rail or we’ll do it for you’ threats." Mac shrugged. "No big deal."

Dylan’s stomach twisted slowly, as her heart stuttered its way through several beats. "How long?" she demanded, trapping Mac’s wrist in an iron grip.

"Wha-? Ow, Dylan, damnit, you’re hurting me!"

"How. Long."

"Since Catherine got drafted," Mac admitted, hanging his head, the pain in his wrist forgotten in his chagrin.

"What? And you didn’t think to tell me?!? What the fuck were you thinking, Mac? What the—shit!" Dylan stiffened. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. "Shit. Oh, goddamn it!"

Releasing Mac, Dylan turned and broke into a run, plowing through the front doors like a running back through a defensive line.

"D?" Mac shouted after, confused. "Dylan? What’s going on?"

There was, of course, no answer save for the echo of the doors as they slammed closed.

"Shit."

Groaning and rubbing his sore wrist, Mac started after her.

*******

Dylan pounded out the door, then stopped as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness surrounding her. Darkness that was broken only by a few sodium arc lamps buzzing complacently throughout the massive parking lot, mute witnesses all.

A soft sound carried on the night breeze. Dylan tensed and cocked her head, trying to determine both the sound and its location. When it came again, she was moving before it even fully registered within her brain. Forward several yards, then to the left, to the second row of cars, and down to her own, parked under one of the few lights still on.

Looking down, she felt her heart stutter briefly in her chest.

"Oh, Catherine," she whispered, coming down to her knees and gently cradling the red-streaked head. Cat’s face was a mask of blood, most of it from a small cut above her left eye—an eye that was already beginning to swell and blacken. Her nose, and a split lower lip added their own hues to the mix.

Her polo shirt had been torn from the back, as if she’d attempted to flee and had been grabbed by the collar from behind. The knuckles of her left hand were scraped, bruised and swollen, and the way she lay in a fetal position, guarding her midsection even while unconscious, caused Dylan to believe she’d been beaten there as well.

Dylan blinked unaccustomed sting of tears away, turning her head in a savage gesture as she heard Mac’s belated arrival.

"Jesus Christ," Mac breathed, clamping a hand over his mouth and paling. The sight of blood had never been his strong suit.

"Puke and I’ll kill you where you stand," Dylan snarled.

"Wha…" Mac swallowed heavily. "What happened?"

"She got the shit beaten out of her. Where the fuck is security?!"

"I don’t—"

His voice was cut off by the sound of falling glass.

Dylan stiffened, then stood, quickly, after laying Hodge’s head gently back on the pavement.

"Stay with her," Dylan ordered as she began to turn in the direction of the sound.

"What?"

"You heard me. Stay with her."

With that, Dylan took off, her form immediately surrounded by the darkness of the Alabama night. With a shaky breath, Mac slowly lowered himself to the ground and cradled Cat’s bloody head on his lap. "Hang on kid," he whispered as he listened to her steady, if rasping breaths. "You’re gonna be ok."

******

Dylan padded quickly, softly, along the blacktop parking lot, keeping to the pooling shadows as she headed toward the sound she’d heard. The source of the sound soon became readily apparent as Hodge’s desecrated truck came into full view. Dylan’s fists clenched; the muscles in her jaw bunched and jumped in anger.

Cat’s old and much-beloved truck had been reduced to a forlorn and hulking wreck of metal sitting on four macerated tires. Shattered glass lay like glittering diamonds strewn across the lot, winking under the sputtering lamp illuminating the horrific scene. Spray painted in jagged neon letters across the passenger’s side, and shot through with gaping holes from a tire iron, were the slogans "GOD HATES QUEERS!!" and "KILL ALL DYKES!!"

Her blood boiling with rage, Dylan carefully stepped over the remains of the truck’s headlights as she circled the vehicle. Other slurs were painted and scored into the metal.

"Motherfucker," Dylan growled, shaking her head as she continued to circle the truck. "Stupid fucking bastards!" Her fist came down on the truck’s tailgate. A shrieking of metal, and the ruined bumper finally gave up the ghost, clattering to the ground, barely missing Dylan’s feet. "Fuck!!"

Spinning quickly, she nearly flattened the face of an overweight security guard lumbering belatedly toward the scene. Dropping her arm slightly, she grabbed the collar of his shirt instead, and dragged him forward and up until their faces were less than inches apart. "How’d this happen, Tommy? Where the fuck were you, huh? Sleeping? Jerking off? What?!?"

"T—takin’ a leak!" the security guard gasped against the choking hold.

"Awfully fortuitous time for you to be emptying your bladder, maggot," Dylan snarled, baring her teeth at him and giving him a shake that rattled his bones.

"It’s the truth! I swear!"

Dylan looked hard into his rheumy eyes and saw only terror staring back at her. After a moment, she released her hold on his shirt and shoved him away. "Call the police."

"But…"

"Now!"

Mumbling under his breath, the guard finally walked back toward his office. Dylan considered giving him a kick to the ass to aid him on his way, quickly discarded the thought as she ran back to Cat and Mac.

Dropping to her knees, she took hold of Hodge and pushed Mac out of the way. "Go inside and tell Kelly not to close up shop. She’s got a customer."

Mac stood slowly, looking down at Dylan, concerned. "Are you sure? Shouldn’t I call an ambulance?"

"Just do as I say, Mac," Dylan replied, distracted as she gathered Cat close and slipped an arm under her knees. "G’wan. I’ll be right there."

Chewing his bottom lip, Mac nodded. "She’ll be okay."

"She better be, Mac. She’d just better be."

As Mac walked away, Dylan gathered her strength and lifted Cat up in her arms. Her powerful legs surged and burned with the burden. Catherine carried more weight than her lithe and compact frame would indicate. The thick muscle overlaying her bones was dense and heavy. Dylan gritted her teeth and began her walk back to the arena.

*******

Kelly Norton, MD, had two very important things going for her as the chief physician of the Birmingham Badgers. The first was that she was a former Olympian who sported a gold medal as part of the USA women’s basketball team. The second, undeniably more important, was that she was regarded as one of the best orthopaedic surgeons in the nation. She had a huge and thriving practice that she left, willingly, to her partners for four months out of the year while she followed the Badgers from state to state, tending to their injuries and attempting to prevent more.

The Johnson Arena’s medical facilities were first rate, combining a mini urgent care center, minor surgery suite and several pieces of expensive X-ray and diagnostic equipment, along with a full physical therapy department. Staffed by Norton, her Nurse Practitioner, two Registered Nurses, and one Physical Therapist, it was truly state-of-the-art.

Norton, short, spry, and pushing fifty, was just putting the finishing touches on her day when the doors burst open to admit a panting Mac. Straightening quickly, she walked to the other side of the examination table and laid a concerned hand on Mac’s thick wrist. "What’s wrong?"

"Cat…." Mac paused to take a deep breath. "Catherine Hodges. She was badly beaten. Dylan is bringing her in now."

"Beaten how?" Norton asked, springing into action and flipping on the overhead lights. "By whom?"

"Assholes," Dylan snarled, entering with Cat in her arms and placing her tenderly on the table. "They beat the shit out of her."

"Okay, okay, let me take a look at her. Move away, Dylan, you’re blocking my light."

As Dylan stepped back, Mac touched her arm. "I’ll call the police," he said in a voice heavy with guilt.

"They’re already on their way. I had Tommy call them."

Mac lowered his gaze to the floor. "Dylan, I…."

"Just…go outside and wait for them, Mac. Let us know when they’re here."

After a moment, Mac nodded and, eyes still downcast, left the room.

"How is she?" Dylan asked, turning back to the table.

"Difficult to say yet," Norton answered in a distracted tone as she gently probed Cat’s facial injuries. "Most of the bleeding’s stopped but I’m worried about a concussion. Doesn’t feel like anything’s fractured." Piercing hazel eyes locked into Dylan’s. "How long has she been unconscious?"

Dylan shook her head. "I’m not sure. I found her like this…by my car. I don’t think it could have been any more than five minutes."

Nodding, Norton removed a small penlight from her labcoat and gently pried Hodge’s eyelids open, one at a time. "Her pupils are responding equally. That makes me feel a lot better about things." This time, when she looked up at Dylan, Norton smiled slightly. "I let my staff go for the evening, so I’ll need your help. You don’t faint at the sight of blood, do you?"

Dylan gave her a look.

Norton laughed softly. "Didn’t think so. In that bin in back of you there are some sterile dressings and saline. Get them down for me, will you?"

By the time Dylan returned with the requested items, Norton had stripped Cat of her shirt and bra and was gingerly palpating her abdomen and ribs.

Dylan felt a heat rise to her face at the sight of Cat’s body, and her eyes darted quickly away. Deal with this later, she told herself in a stern mental voice. Taking in a deep breath, she turned back to the examination table, holding up the gauze and saline.

Looking up from her exam, Norton nodded briskly. "Uncap the saline and pour it over the gauze. We’ll need to wipe the blood from her face so I can see how bad her cuts are."

"Her…." Dylan cleared her throat and gestured toward Cat’s torso.

Norton bit off a smile at Dylan’s uncharacteristic flustered state. "Her ribs are bruised, but I don’t think any are broken. X-rays will tell us for sure. I don’t think there are any internal injuries, but she’s gonna be sore as hell tomorrow." The doctor lifted Cat’s left arm, displaying the young woman’s bruised, swollen, and cut knuckles. "And as for this, I’d say she gave as good as she got. Tough kid."

"Yes," Dylan replied softly. "She is."

"Alright then. Let’s get to work. I’ll clean off her face, then we’ll take her into X-ray. Find out what we have to work with here."

They worked in silence for the next several minutes, tenderly cleaning away the dried blood that had accumulated on Cat’s face and neck. With the application of a local anesthetic, Norton sunk three sutures into the cut above the young woman’s brow, then covered the area with a bandage.

"Ok, that’s all I can do for right now. She’s gonna have a nice shiner, but the eye itself isn’t injured, and her nose is going to be sore for a few days, but it should heal just fine on its own. I’ll wheel her into X-ray and get a look at those ribs."

******

The police arrived just as Norton was wheeling Hodge into the X-ray suite. Dylan stepped out of the exam room to speak with the two uniformed officers. It only took minutes to tell them what little she knew, and to secure a promise that the media would not be informed of this attack at this time. She also told them she would take the responsibility of notifying Catherine’s family, which the men agreed to.

The officers were ones Dylan had met before, and she knew that if anyone could find out who committed the assault, it would be them. The taller one, Sergeant Tony Moore, was a deeply closeted gay man, and his partner was an outstanding, open-minded police officer.

After shaking hands with the officers, Dylan returned to the examination room in time to see a very groggy, but awake, Cat wheeled back in. Dylan smiled in relief and crossed the room to stand beside the stretcher. "How are you doing?" she asked, clasping her hands behind her back in order to resist the urge to reach out and stroke the young woman’s hair.

"Feel like I got run over by an elephant," Cat replied, her voice slightly muffled from her swollen nose and upper lip.

Blue eyes darted up to the physician. "Is there anything you can give her for pain?"

Norton smiled. "Getting to that right now, Coach." Crossing the room, the doctor retrieved a medication vial and a wrapped syringe. "Catherine, I’m going to give you some medicine to help with your pain. It’s going to make you pretty sleepy."

"Sleepy is good," Cat replied, wincing as she shifted in the bed. "Sleepy is real good."

Norton returned with the filled syringe. "You’re going to need to be watched over for a couple of hours. Do you live with a roommate? Family?"

"No," Cat whispered, eyes forlorn.

"It’s ok," Dylan replied, stepping forward. "I’ll take her home and keep an eye on her." She looked down at Hodge. "If that’s okay with you."

"I don’t want to be a bother."

Dylan didn’t miss the faint blush that suffused Cat’s face as the younger woman’s eyes darted away from her own.

"It’s settled then." Picking up Cat’s housekeys where they lay on the table next to the stretcher, Dylan jiggled them in one fist. "Home it is."

"Ok, let’s get this shot over with then, Cat, and you can be on your way. Nothing broken, just banged up. You should be as good as new in a week or so."

"Hate shots," Cat mumbled, but didn’t make a sound when the drug was injected into her hip. Her eyelids soon grew very heavy, and, allowing them to slip closed, she was soon deeply asleep.

"Are you sure she’s going to be okay?" Dylan asked, concerned.

"Yes. She’s a very lucky woman. Just keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t try to get up on her own in the middle of the night. The drug I just gave her is pretty potent stuff." From the pocket of her lab coat, Norton retrieved a bottle of pills. "Give her one of these with water no sooner than every four hours if she complains of pain."

Dylan took the pills and pocketed them. "Will do. Anything else?"

"No. You have my number in case anything comes up, but it shouldn’t. As I said, she’s very lucky."

"I don’t know if I’d call what happened to her ‘lucky’, my friend," Dylan softly commented, looking down at Catherine’s bruised and swollen face. Rage once again flared through her, but she clamped down on it with savage intent.

Time enough for anger later, when it would do some good.

*******

Dylan unlocked the door with one hand while holding Cat up with the other arm securely wrapped around the young woman’s waist. "You might be small, but you’re packed," she grumbled as she attempted to move the heavily sedated woman inside.

Hodge roused a bit at the sound of Dylan’s voice, and giggled at what she thought—in her drugged stupor—she’d heard. "Stacked?" She giggled again. "I didn’t think you’d noticed." She tried to get a peek down her own cleavage, but for some reason, her arms weren’t cooperating. Nor were her eyes, which seemed to be content right where they were, staring at Dylan’s beautiful face in profile.

"Oh believe me," Dylan mumbled, half under her breath, "I noticed." The words came out without her permission, but strangely, it didn’t feel as out of place as it should. She’d have to think about that later, too.

"I heard that," Cat replied in a sing-song voice. "Pallas Dylan The Goddess Lambert thinks I’m stacked." That came out a little louder than Dylan expected. A lot louder, actually, and she found herself looking up and down the hallway, praying she was the only one who’d overheard the declaration.

An empty hallway answered her prayers, and she looked down at the young woman again, finding her deeply asleep and all but lounging on Dylan’s tall, strong form. "Oh boy," Dylan breathed, shifting her body and pulling the limp young woman into her arms once again.

Flipping a switch right next to the door, Dylan prayed for light and was rewarded. It was just an entry light but it was enough so she could see into the loft apartment. If the situation hadn’t been so serious Dylan probably would have been impressed with Cat’s taste and her level of organization. As it was, all she wanted to do was get the young woman to bed.

She took a better hold on Cat, who groaned at the stronger contact. "Sorry," she whispered as they made their way into the large living room. Very gingerly she lowered her battered player to the sofa, taking care to arrange her position as gently as possible.

Reaching over to the end table she clicked on the lamp that sent more soft light into the well-kept living space. She noticed the bedroom on the second floor, seen easily through the loft railing, and trudged up the steps. Approaching the large bed, she stripped back the comforter and took the blanket underneath and grabbed a pillow before heading back down the stairs and into the living room.

Returning to Cat, she placed the items on the back of the couch and then took a deep breath as she prepared for what she knew she had to do next. First she removed the player’s sneakers and tossed them to the floor. Then she reached for the snap of her jeans. Slowly and very carefully she undressed the young woman, leaving her clad in her panties, sports bra and socks. Once Cat was covered with the blanket, Dylan released a breath she wasn’t aware she had been holding.

"I don’t think you’re gonna want these anymore," she whispered, holding the ripped and bloodied clothes in her hands. Looking around, she spied a tall garbage can in the kitchen and disposed of the clothing promptly, shoving it down far so that it wouldn’t be the first thing Cat saw when she entered.

She leaned against the counter, wondering what she should do next. It had been a long time since she’d had to care for anyone but herself. The rustiness showed itself as indecision.

Long fingers taped repeatedly against the Formica counter top as she pondered. Calling Cat’s parents seemed to be the next logical step, but she had the feeling that Catherine wouldn’t appreciate that.

She’s an adult, Dylan. Let her make up her own mind about it. No sense butting in where you’re not needed. If she wants to call, she’ll call.

That settled, at least for the time being, Dylan opened the fridge door, pleased to find both water and various juices. She also grinned when she saw a bag of Oreo’s tucked lovingly in a zip lock bag. Apparently Cat had one or two bad habits and a few weaknesses for junk food. Dylan smiled at that as she grabbed a bottle of water and went back into the living room. She looked at the young woman, who appeared to be in pain even as she slept. "I’m so sorry Cat," she whispered as she knelt near Cat’s head and gently brushed her hair from her forehead. "If I could make it go away, I would."

The gentle touch felt nice; more soothing to her, she suspected, than to the pain-wracked woman lying so small and so fragile on the large couch. She smiled, then, as she noticed the tense muscles of Cat’s face relax just slightly under her gently stroking fingers. "I’m here," she whispered, knowing it for the promise it was.

Tearing her gaze, and her fingers, away, she lowered herself to the floor beside the couch and picked up the remote to the television. The TV flickered to life, and she changed the channel from ESPN to the local news to see if the attack had been able to avoid publicity. She kept the volume low, took a drink of the water, and closed her eyes, allowing her head to rest back against the couch. She listened to the news with one ear and Cat with the other. A long groan made her sit up and turn quickly toward the couch.

"Coach. . . ."

"I’m right here."

Green eyes opened slowly and she tried to smile, but it hurt too much. "This sucks."

"I know. How do you feel?"

"Like every team in the league has run over my butt." She licked her lips, grimacing at the action. "Twice."

Dylan chuckled. The night’s stress had just about gotten to her and she was glad to see that Cat still managed to joke. "Bet the other guys don’t look too good either," she commented, looking down at the swollen hand lying atop Cat’s abdomen.

Cat curled her fist reflexively, then winced. "Bastards."

Dylan sat quietly for a moment, unsure what to say. Words of sorrow mixed with feelings of rage against the so-called "men" who did this, and she wasn’t sure how to express herself without it all boiling over and scaring her younger charge.

Cat seemed to understand, though, and smiled. "Thanks for being here. With me."

Dylan returned the smile. "Anytime."

Green eyes slid closed again, and within moments, Cat was asleep.

Sighing softly, Dylan turned back toward the television and pulled her cell phone from her pocket pressing the button that would connect her to Mac.

"Hey, D," Mac’s soft, sleepy voice comes over the phone. "How’s Cat?"

"Sleeping. Listen we’re gonna have to take her off the roster for awhile. Put her on injured reserve. It probably won’t be any longer than a game."

"No problem," Mac replied. "What are we going tell the press when they ask why?"

"That’s your job, Mac."

"I know that, D, but this is….delicate, ya know?"

Dylan sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I haven’t thought that far ahead. I’ll let you know in the morning."

"Where are you?"

"With Catherine. I’m staying until morning. She shouldn’t be alone. If you need me you can call the cell."

"Right."

"I’ll keep you posted, but let’s keep this as quiet as possible. The last thing I need is for Johnson to find out that his star player was gay bashed. He’d find a way to make it her fault."

"Okay." Silence, as Mac tried to think up something suitable to say. "Dylan, is she going to be all right?"

"I hope so. I’ll call later, Mac. Good night."

"Night. Try and get some rest will ya’?"

"I’ll think about it."

"Just this one time, listen to old Mac. Don’t think, do."

"Night Mac." Dylan growled.

"Bye."

She snapped the phone shut and her attention was drawn to the TV where a shot of two men being led away by police was on the screen. She turned the volume up a bit and listened.

"Police were called to the home of a local business woman this evening after she reported that there were several men in her back yard. Upon arrival the police found two of the men trying to make entry into the residence and the arrested them. Four other suspects fled the scene and have not been apprehended. Leslie Tyson is a well known lesbian business woman and the police are looking into the possibility that this was an attempted hate crime."

Dylan smiled and opened her phone to call the officers who had responded to the assault.

*******

Cat blinked in that drowsy state halfway between sleep and wakefulness. Groaning softly, she tried to move, but the bright spikes of pain shooting through her head arrested the attempt.

Her eyes opened enough to see daylight streaming in through the large windows. She tracked the rays to where they bathed the woman sleeping on the floor near the couch in a golden, almost heroic, glow.

Like a goddess, Cat thought, still groggy from the drugs she’d been given. A thrill went through her, centering in her abdomen and giving off an almost palpable warmth. The Goddess is sleeping in my living room!

If she didn’t hurt so badly, she would have laughed at the absurd irony of it all. As it was, she was tired, and aching, and needed to pee in the worst way.

"Coach?"

Startled, Dylan yawned and stretched, her muscles voicing great displeasure at a night spent on the floor.

"Coach?"

She opened her eyes and sat up slowly, running long fingers through her disheveled hair. "Morning." Her voice was thick, and husky with sleep. "How do you feel?"

Cat groaned as she attempted to copy Dylan’s actions, stopping when her abused belly and ribs shrieked. "Kill me?"

"Sorry, I think we’ll keep you around for awhile."

"Not even if I beg?"

"Not even then."

Scowling, Cat slumped against the arm of the couch, her head spinning. "Help me sit up, will ya?"

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Dylan quickly rose to her feet. "It’s probably best if you just stay here for now. I can bring you anything you need."

"Alright, but the toilet’s gonna be a bitch to move."

Dylan froze.

Cat smiled. "I think it’s probably better if you help me up."

"I…think you’re right." Moving in, Dylan slid one long arm around Cat’s shoulders and helped the young woman to a sitting position.

"Oh shit that hurts!" Cat grabbed her tender ribs and took a deep breath, which also hurt. She refrained from crying though she really wanted to. The only thing that kept her from it was the fact that she didn’t want to look weak in front of her coach.

"Easy. Would you like some pain pills?"

"A dozen please. The best you have."

"You can have one." Dylan fished the bottle from her pocket and uncapped it. "Juice?"

"Please."

Cat didn’t move a muscle while Dylan went to the kitchen for juice. "Anything broken?" she asked, wincing as she awaited the verdict.

"No. Just a few bumps and bruises." Returning to the living room, Dylan handed a glass of OJ and one pain pill to Cat, then gently took a seat next to her as the blonde quickly swallowed the medicine. "Do you want to call your folks?"

Cat’s eyes went wide. "Oh, God. You didn’t call them, did you?"

"No. I figured that’s your decision to make."

Cat nodded fervently, relieved. "Thanks, Coach. My mother would freak and my father would be on the next plane. I don’t think I could deal with that right now."

Dylan took in a deep breath, aware that she was treading in dangerous waters. "I know this is none of my business, but if I were you, I’d probably call." At Cat’s look, Dylan rushed on. "You’re a public figure now, Catherine. And you’ve got a great family. Do you really want them to find out what happened to you on the evening news? Or while they’re watching you play?"

Cat blanched.

Dylan smiled, laying a hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. "Think about it, okay?"

"Okay, I will."

"Atta girl."

*******

Upon entering her home, Dylan was greeted by two yellow-eyed dogs who scampered around her with rear legs just about crossed. Rolling her eyes, she led the pair toward the back door, chuckling as Siegfried elected to forgo his usual sniffing and headed for the first tree he could find, practically drowning the poor Dogwood he’d hiked his leg against.

"Idiots," she said with great affection. "Why don’t you just use the pet door?"

Having finished her business, Brunhilde strolled over and sat at Dylan’s foot, giving the tall human a pointed look. Dylan chuckled again, scratching Brunhilde behind the ears. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Your big, mean, trained to attack and kill brother is afraid of the damn pet door. And you won’t go out without him. God, you’re like an old married couple, sometimes."

Brunhilde nudged her once, then went to romp with her sibling. Dylan stood, face tilted up to the cloudless sky. The sun felt good on her face, but was making her more drowsy than she already was. She hadn’t slept much the night before, tossing and turning and awakening every two minutes to check on Catherine. Not that she’d admit that to anyone but herself, of course.

Still, her nerves had eased considerably as she’d helped Catherine bathe and change her bandages, and by the time the young woman had slipped off to sleep, comfortable in her own bed, Dylan was feeling a sense of satisfaction rare for her.

A cold nose shoved into her belly drew her from her reverie. "Alright, guys. I’ve got a game tonight, and if I don’t get some sleep, it’s not gonna be pretty, so let’s go back inside, alright?"

She was left alone, laughing, as two dogs bolted back inside as if their tails were on fire.

*******

Cat stared at the phone, not wanting to pick it up. Dylan’s words echoed in her head, and she winced at the remembering of them.

Sometimes she hated The Goddess.

Sighing, she picked up the phone and the button that dialed her folks. "Please don’t be home," she mumbled when it rang for the third time. Please, please, please.

"Hello."

Shit. "Um, hi Dad."

"Cat? Hey baby, what graces us with your lovely voice?"

Cat smiled through the pain; just hearing her dad’s voice made it hurt a little less. "I’m okay, but…I need to tell you something Dad."

"Cat, sweetheart what’s wrong?"

"Dad… I had an accident."

She heard her father yell for her mother to pick up the phone in the kitchen. "Catherine what’s wrong?"

"Hi Mom."

"Honey," her father soothed. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Nothing is wrong. I just wanted to let you know that I got banged up a little…."

"Cat…?" her father asked.

"Banged up?" her mother interjected. "Where? How??"

"Mom." Cat stopped her mother before it became a full fledged rant. "I’m okay, really. I went to the doctor and got checked out. Nothing broken, nothing sprained. Just a couple bumps and bruises is all. My face looks like I went ten rounds with Lewis, but I’m really okay."

"Are you sure?" The worried tone in her mother’s voice told Cat the older woman was already trying to calculate the next flight to Birmingham.

"Perfectly sure, Mom. I mean, doctors don’t lie, you know? At least, this one doesn’t. She said I’m fine, and I am."

"You’re sitting out the game tonight, right?" Her father asked in that tone that told her he’d better get the answer he wanted.

"I…don’t know yet. I’m gonna go in early and see what the doctor has to say."

"You shouldn’t."

"Dad…"

"Cat, you need time to heal."

"I know, and if Doc says no then I won’t, but if she okays me then I’m going to play."

"Do you want me to come and take care of you?"

"No Mom. I’m a grown woman now I don’t think that will be necessary."

"But Catherine…"

"Mom, I’m okay. I promise you. Okay?"

"If you need us, you promise to call?"

Thank you, Dad!

"I’ll do one better than that Dad. If I need you I’ll have Coach Lambert call you. And you know she would."

"This is true," her mother sighed. "I do like that woman. She takes good care of you."

"Yes, she does. Listen guys I need to go, but I wanted to let you know I love you both."

"We love you too, honey. Take care.

"I will. Bye."

"Bye Cat."

"Bye honey."

She hung up the phone and grabbed her bag with her good hand. "Well that went better than I thought."

*******

Dylan stepped into the locker room, fielding greetings and expressions of concern from the team. The news of Catherine’s assault had been quietly shared with the women, though the motive, for now, had been left as "unknown". Dylan answered the questions as best she could, all the while noticing another undercurrent that hadn’t been there before.

It was an undercurrent of defeat in a group of previously confident women. She looked around, noting the slumped shoulders and dejected expressions. Sighing, she stepped quietly in front of the group and waited patiently until every eye was on her. Though there were two women in the room that topped her in height and weight, Dylan was easily the biggest person there. She was The Goddess, the player, the star. Hers was the face that graced innumerable magazine covers, and hers were the skills that snatched victory out of the hands of defeat.

"Most of the people out there expect us to lose." Dylan met each gaze and held it for a long moment. The silence between her words allowed the sounds of the crowd outside to filter into the locker room. "The press. Our fans. The Quake." Her shoulders squared, making her appear even larger and more formidable than before. "I don’t."

She looked at each of them again, infusing them with her confidence, her determination, her strength. "We’re a damn good team. You know it. And I know it. And the people who don’t?" Broad shoulders shrugged. "Fuck ‘em."

A relieved chuckle, more a release of nervous tension than anything else, filled the small room. The women looked back at their coach, a new confidence in their eyes.

Dylan grinned. "Alright then. Go out and start warming up. I’ll be out in a few."

As the newly excited women pressed out of the locker room by the main entrance, Dylan let herself out via a smaller door which opened into a narrow hallway connecting her to the on-site offices and medical area. She’d gotten no more than five steps toward her office when the door to the medical clinic opened and she found herself narrowly missing a head-on collision with none other than her up and coming star player.

"Catherine?"

Startled, Cat pulled up short, her battered face breaking out into a smile of recognition. "Hi, Coach."

"What are you doing here? You should be in bed."

"Well I was. Then I got up. Now I’m here."

A raised eyebrow showed Cat plainly what her coach thought of that particular explanation.

"It’s game night," she said softly.

"I’m aware of that," Dylan commented, folding her arms across her chest. "That’s why I’m here. Why are you here?"

Catherine sighed. She’d known going in that this wouldn’t be easy. Still, for her own sake, she had to try. "I came early to see if Doc Norton would release me to play."

Dylan scowled. "Catherine…."

"Coach, please. Hear me out. I…I know you’re not too keen on me playing tonight…."

Dylan’s low growl was the answer she expected.

"…but…I need to do this. I can’t let those bastards win. And if I don’t play, they do."

"And if you hurt yourself worse?" Dylan asked, eyes blazing chips of ice. "Who wins then?"

Cat fought the urge to look away. It wasn’t easy, but she had something to prove. To them both. "That’s why I saw the doctor," she stated firmly. "If she would have said ‘no’, that would have been it. But she didn’t. She even gave me this." Hodge held up a clear facemask, the kind basketball players used when they’d suffered facial injuries during a game. "She said as long as I’m careful and wear this, I should be okay."

"’Should’ being the operative word."

"Coach…."

"Catherine, we’re not talking about some street corner blacktop game here." Dylan’s hands gestured wildly, mimicking the turmoil of her emotions. "We’re talking about your career. Your life."

"I know." Reaching out, she clamped a firm hand on Dylan’s wrist. "And for both of those things, I need to do this. Not for Johnson, not even for you, but for me. I have to prove to myself that I can do this. That those bastards haven’t won."

Their gazes met and locked for a long, intense moment.

"If I hurt the team, make even one tiny mistake, bench me. Hell, I’ll bench myself. But this…this I need."

Though it went against every instinct that Dylan possessed, she finally nodded.

Cat’s face lit up like the sun. "Thanks, Coach!"

"Don’t thank me yet," Dylan growled, mentally slapping herself silly for giving in to big green eyes and a pleading voice. "Just remember your word. If I see you playing just a hair off, I’ll bench you faster than shit through a goose. Understand?"

Cat’s nose wrinkled at the analogy, but she nodded. "I understand."

"Alright then. Get out with the others and warm up."

Cat grinned all the way to the court.

*******

Cat made her way to center court wondering, not for the first time, if what she was about to do was all that good of an idea. Needing to keep her senses and wits about her, she’d eschewed even the aspirin offered up by the kindly Doc Norton, and now she was paying the price. Her head was ringing like a bell, but she could deal with that, having played through headaches before. It was her belly and ribs, however, that made taking a shot or making a pass an exercise in exquisite pain. She’d even caught herself flinching when one of her teammates had rifled a pass to her. Thank God Dylan hadn’t come out on the court yet. Cat knew she’d have been benched before the first whistle blew.

She met with yet another obstacle as she took her place on the court. Her old nemesis, Keisha Brown, drafted an ignoble fifth and starting for the LA Quake, took up a position beside her, sneering as she gave Cat a slow, head to toe glance. "So, butchie, what happened? Your girlfriend didn’t like the way you fucked her last night?"

Brown’s words caused a surge of anger to rise up in Cat, a surge she was hard-pressed to push down. She wanted to lash out, to hurt someone as she had been hurt, to make the pain go away by forcing it upon someone else. And Brown was there, in her face, all but asking for it, bringing back the memories of the night before with crystal clarity.

Then, as if a switch had been flipped inside her, she felt the anger recede behind a wall as cold and hard as the winter’s ground. Some of that coldness must have reached her eyes, because Brown took a half step backward, uncertainly flashing briefly across her features.

The whistle blew, and it was time to get down to business.

Cat played like a machine, as if the seeds of her talent had burst into full bloom all at once. The basket seemed to her the size of a swimming pool; her teammates, ten feet tall. She made passes without looking and shots without aiming, hitting the mark time and time again. It looked effortless, and to Cat, it was.

Her teammates, and even the opposition, watched with awe as she blazed through the court like a comet. Brown couldn’t touch her. No one could. She was, as they say, "in the zone", and nothing, short of a natural disaster, could get her out of it.

It never came. The Badgers won by 19 points, and Cat finished the game with a career high 28 points and 17 assists. She was carried from the court on the shoulders of her teammates as they jostled and fought for the right to bear her up.

When they arrived in the locker-room, the women set Cat gently down and continued their celebration with handslaps and loud cheers. Though in the center of the melee, Cat felt strangely detached, almost as if she were watching what was going on from somewhere outside of herself.

The feeling worried her, but was quickly swept away under the tide of enthusiastic congratulations directed her way.

Dylan pushed her way through the celebrants, accepting congratulations of her own for the game plan she’d put into place. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that it had felt damn good to trounce her old nemesis like that. Said trouncing was a long time in coming, and it tasted sweet.

As she made her way to the center of the crowd, she laid a gentle hand on Cat’s sweat-soaked shoulder, smiling when the younger woman spun to face her. "Good game," she said softly, knowing Cat could hear her.

"Thanks, Coach. Thanks for believing in me and letting me do this."

"No problem."

Dylan was about to turn away, but something stopped her. Something about the look in Cat’s vibrant eyes. It was a look she hadn’t seen from the young woman before, and had doubted she ever would. There seemed to be some sort of hard, savage joy there mixing with the honest pleasure of a job well done. It gave Dylan pause.

"Are you alright?" she asked, tone still soft.

Cat blinked, then smiled. "Sure. I feel great!"

Still, Dylan paused, unsure of what she thought she’d seen was a figment of her imagination or actually there. She wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure what. It left her uncharacteristically tongue tied.

As if sensing Dylan’s discomfiture, Cat broadened her grin and laid a hand atop the one on her shoulder. "I promise, Coach. I’m fine. I can’t even feel my bruises and I think I’ll be riding high for the rest of the night. Some game, huh?"

"Yeah," Dylan replied, giving a half-hearted smile. "Some game."

The moment was interrupted by Mac entering in to congratulate them both, and by the time Dylan knew what was happening, Cat had been swept away to the showers and she was on her way to meet Johnson for what she was sure would be falsely offered praise. Her gut twisted with worry for a brief moment, then she let it go as she allowed Mac to lead her to the skybox suite where Johnson was waiting.

*******

The next several days went quickly and quietly, though not without note. Cat’s injuries had begun to heal, and she seemed none the worse for wear. She followed instruction precisely as ever and was sharp as the edge of a razor in practice. If anything, at least outwardly, the assault that had tested Cat’s resolve had left her stronger than ever before.

Still, Dylan was concerned, and watched her with a hawk’s eye. It was nothing she could point to and say "There! This is what’s wrong!" It was more of a feeling; a nebulous thing that told Dylan that things weren’t exactly as they seemed. Every time she asked Catherine how things were going she was put off—nicely, but put off nonetheless—with a smiling, polite "Everything’s great, Coach! Couldn’t be better!"

The look in those green eyes was sincerity itself.

Why, then, did she know, deep in her gut, that Cat was lying?

She spent her days frustrated, caught between the rock of wanting to know if everything was okay with her star player, and the hard place of not wishing to intrude upon Cat’s private life. Divining emotions from subtle hints was never her strong suit, and her frustration left her snappish and tense. She’d all but bitten Mac’s head off when he’d had the temerity of asking her to go with him for some lunch, scaring the big man out of a few years of life. He’d left her alone to stew then, taking great pains to keep from darkening her doorstep any more than he had to.

Luckily for Dylan, her dealings with Johnson and the advertisers had come off much better than expected. A large group of lesbians, gay men, and open minded individuals had heard about the threatened pull-out and had made it clear that they would boycott the boycotters, thereby proving once again that in the business world, capitalism won out over bigoted morality every time.

With that piece of desiccated meat swept clean from her overfull plate, Dylan was left once again to ponder.

*******

By the end of the second week, Dylan had had enough. The worry in her gut wouldn’t go away no matter how she tried to subdue it. She knew her mood would remain miserable until she was finally able to put away any doubts she harbored over Catherine’s emotional state. And those doubts could only be put away by talking to the young woman herself.

Privately.

Her mind made up, she waited until after practice on Friday evening, staying away until she was reasonably sure the rest of the team and coaches had left for the day before slowly walking toward the arena proper, running over opening gambits in her head.

She was surprised when entering the arena to find the lights already dimmed. The place was empty save for the ready-to-retire janitor who was pushing his broom along the side of the court nearest the benches.

"Lo, Miss Dylan," he said politely, doffing the baseball cap that covered his cotton-wool head.

"Hello, Jerome," Dylan replied, distracted. She looked down at her watch, then back at the court, blinking dumbly. Even if Catherine had started the minute practice ended and hit all of her freethrows in a row on the first try, she still should have been in the arena.

But she wasn’t.

Dylan sighed.

"Sure is quiet without the little sprout out here keepin’ me company," Jerome commented, almost to himself, as he continued working his push broom.

Dylan turned to him slowly, eyebrow elevated. "’Little sprout’?"

Jerome’s dark skin darkened further. He broke out into a somewhat bashful smile. "Miss Cat, Ma’am. She was always out here after practice, makin’ her shots. Sweet lady she is, always askin’ after me and my family and tellin’ silly stories." The janitor shook his head. "Nice lady. Real nice lady."

"How long has it been since you saw her last?" Dylan asked, trying to sound casual when she was anything but.

Doffing his cap, Jerome scratched the back of his head. "Since her accident." His seamed face hardened into a scowl. "Beggin’ your pardon, Miss Dylan, but I hope them that hurt her burn. I do indeed."

Dylan nodded, agreeing with the man, even as her mind whirled with the implications of this new information. "Thank you, Jerome. You might have just given me the answers I was looking for."

The smile the janitor gave took two decades off his age. "I did? Well, I’m glad to help, Miss Dylan. Always glad to help."

*******

"Are you sure you’re okay?"

"Sure I am!" Cat pulled away from Shaniqua’s helpful hold, almost dropping the keys in her hand. "Damnit! They went and changed the locks on me! I’ll kill em!"

"You have to put the key in right side up, shortchange."

"Oh. Right. Thanks!" Flipping the key, Cat inserted it into the lock and grinned when it twisted, allowing the door to open. "Cool! You wanna come in? I got a new bottle of SoCo with your name on it."

"No, man. We got early practice tomorrow. Did you forget already?"

Cat’s motions were exaggerated as she turned to face her teammate. "Forget? Me?"

Chaney laughed. "Yeah, shortchange. You."

Cat scowled. "No, I didn’t forget. I’m just not ready to go to sleep yet."

"Better you than me, girl. I’m beat. You sure you’re gonna be alright?"

"Just fine and dandy! You g’wan home and go to sleep, party pooper. Colonel SoCo and I will do just fine alone."

Chaney laughed again, slapping Hodge on the shoulder. "You’re alright for a white girl, shortchange."

"Thanks. I think."

"See you tomorrow. Don’t come in hung over or Fraulein Caulley will whip your ass."

Cat giggled at the mental image. "I won’t be hung over. See ya tomorrow, Shan."

"Later, shortchange."

Feeling a bit more sober, Cat carefully locked the door, threw the deadbolt, and switched on the new alarm system she had had installed the week before. "Takes care of that," she announced, walking into the apartment and turning on all the lights as she went. The kitchen was her last stop, and she picked up the unopened bottle of Southern Comfort from the counter top and cracked the seal.

Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, she walked over to the couch, flipped on the television, and poured herself a healthy shot. She took a generous sip, then almost choked the sweet whiskey out her nose when there was a sudden knock on her door.

Grinning, she jumped to her feet, glass still in hand. "Shan, you dog! I knew you weren’t ready to stop yet! Hang on a second and let me get the…ouch!…damn…crap! Stupid thing…door open."

In quick succession, the alarm was switched off, and deadbolt released, and the lock opened. Throwing open the door, Cat greeted her late night visitor with a beaming grin.

Which quickly faded upon the realization that not only wasn’t Shaniqua Chaney standing outside, Dylan Lambert was.

"Oh. Um…Hi, Coach!" The grin returned, glaring in its insincerity.

"Catherine."

The false smile left as quickly as the real one did. "Is…something wrong?"

"Nope. Just checking to see how you’re doing."

Cat’s eyes narrowed. "And that requires a house call?"

Dylan gave a casual shrug. "Sometimes."

Cat sighed. "Well…if you went through all the trouble of coming out here to check up on me, the least I can do is let you in." Stepping back, she gestured Dylan inside with a tilt of her head.

Dylan followed, taking careful note of the apartment’s interior. It seemed a different place from the one she had left the morning after Cat’s assault. Though hardly slovenly, the normally immaculate living space was cluttered with newspapers, books, old clothes, and beer bottles. The beautiful floor-to-ceiling windows were all covered over by heavy black draperies pulled tight enough not to let even the faintest sliver of light through. The windows on the top floor showed a similar treatment. And Dylan knew without looking closely that the alarm system was both new and top-of-the-line.

Feeling eyes upon her, Dylan turned her attention to the couch where Cat was sitting. The younger woman was sipping from her glass, and the gaze she leveled at Dylan was equal parts curiosity and challenge.

"So…is there anything I can help you with?" Cat asked in a deceptively mild voice.

"Like I said," Dylan replied, "I’m just checking to make sure everything’s okay with you." Her gaze darted around the room, once again noting the changes.

Cat felt her jaw clench at the cataloguing. She knew exactly what Dylan was doing; what she was thinking, and it made her guts burn. Maybe it was the alcohol lubricating her emotions, but she didn’t feel inclined to halt her words. "Begging your pardon, Coach, but I already have a mother. I don’t need another one."

Dylan’s eyes widened for a second, then she tipped her head. Touché. She cleared her throat. "I tried to see you after practice today, but you’d already left."

Cat’s face colored slightly, and she looked down at the drink in her hand. A drink she no longer wanted. "It’s…just a stupid superstition anyway. I’m making my foul shots just fine in the games."

Dylan nodded, even though she didn’t believe a word of the excuse. "True."

"Well, is it something else? Am I not doing my job in some way? Screwing up in practice? Screwing up in the games?"

"No, no. It’s none of that. You’ve been exemplary. In practice and during the games."

At any other time, Cat might have glowed in pleasure over the compliments. Now, however, wasn’t one of those times. Her anger continued to grow. The sane, sober part of her knew that Dylan was reaching out, trying to help. The irrational side of her slapped those thoughts away. "Then I’ll ask you again. Why are you here? You’re my coach. You have say over what goes on in my professional life. But this, here, where we are now, is my personal life. And unless there’s a problem that you’re not telling me, I don’t see that what I do in my personal life is anyone’s business but my own."

Dylan was quiet for a moment, absorbing the words thrust at her. Then she nodded. "You’re right. Your professional conduct has been above board and without complaint." She nodded again. "I’m sorry for having disturbed you. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow."

With that, Dylan turned, all the while cursing herself for seven kinds of fool.

"Coach?"

Reaching the door, Dylan grasped the knob, but the tone of the soft call stopped any further action. She turned her head and was met with a look of such pride and such pain that her chest tightened against it. Her hand slipped from the knob as she gathered her thoughts, determined to make one more try.

"Catherine." She began slowly, softly. "Cat…it’s okay to be afraid."

Cat laughed. It sounded more like a sob, but her eyes were dry.

"It’s okay to hurt."

Cat laughed again, rubbing at her face. "How would you know?" she spat. "How would you know what it’s like to be so angry all the time you feel like you’re going to explode? How would you know what it’s like to go to sleep afraid, and to wake up the same way?" She shook her head. "I mean, look at you! You’re an Amazon, for god’s sake! How would you even begin to know what I feel?"

Dylan took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. An extremely private woman, she knew she had a difficult choice. To say nothing, and let this escalate, or to share a bit of herself and take the chance that maybe it would help.

The decision was easier than she thought. Turning fully, she retraced her steps back into the apartment, stopping when she came level with the couch. "I’m not invincible, Catherine."

Cat snorted. "No?"

"No. I know what it’s like to have anger eating away at me, and I know what it’s like to be afraid."

"How? How do you know?"

"May I?" Dylan asked, gesturing to the couch.

"Oh. Sure." Scooting over to one end, Cat made room for Dylan to sit.

"Thanks."

A long silence fell between them.

"So?" Cat asked after clearing her throat. "How do you know?"

Dylan loosely clasped her hands, and stared down into them, as if divining the secrets of life from the lines in her palm. She kept her gaze focused there as she began to speak. "I was sixteen and had just graduated High School. I’d been given a full athletic scholarship to UCLA and I thought I was the baddest thing on two legs."

Cat responded with a genuine laugh at that. She hadn’t been too different upon her own graduation.

"I shouldn’t have been walking out alone so late at night, but I wasn’t thinking about that at the time." Dylan laughed bitterly. "I wasn’t thinking at all, really."

"What happened?" Cat was sitting forward now, elbows on her knees, drink forgotten.

"There were six of them. Big pot-bellied redneck assholes out in sunny California to do god knows what. They decided that a gang bang was the best way to end a night of boozing, and they picked me as the bangee."

"Oh no…" Cat whispered.

"I hadn’t finished growing yet. I was tall, but still pretty skinny." She clenched her hands tighter, watching as the skin turned white from the pressure. "I fought like hell, but together, they were a lot stronger than I was, and it wasn’t long before they’d beaten me down to the sidewalk. If I let myself remember, I can still feel their hands on me, ripping at my clothes as I tried to fight them off. Even after they’d blackened my eyes and broken my jaw to shut me up, I didn’t stop fighting."

If Dylan would have looked up at that moment, she would have seen large tears rolling silently down Cat’s cheeks. She didn’t, however, as she continued to stare down into her hands, clenched to tight fists now. "I couldn’t…." She shook her head. "Anyway, before they got much further, I suddenly felt their weight lifted off of me. When I looked up, I saw these…kids…not any older than me. They were wearing gang colors and had guns, every single one of them. And they were beating the crap out of my intended rapists."

"Jesus!" Cat swore.

"Yeah. I thought, for a moment there, that I was just trading one set of attackers for another, but then a couple of the guys helped me up and held me steady as I puked my guts up all over the sidewalk. Another one gave me his shirt, if you can believe that. Mine was ripped to shreds. They even offered to drive me home, but I…I needed to be alone right then."

Dylan sighed, winding down like a toy soldier on Christmas morning. She seemed deflated somehow, as if she was still that girl she’d stopped being so many years ago.

Then, into her field of vision came a hand, small and almost delicate. It laid itself atop her fists like a blanket, or a balm. It soothed something in her soul she wasn’t aware was still so raw, and for the first time in years, she felt tears well up.

"I’m so sorry that happened to you," Cat whispered.

Dylan gave a twisted smile, but didn’t raise her eyes. "Yeah, well… . I told myself I could deal with it. No big deal, right?" She laughed again. Bitterly. "So I buried it deep down inside and covered it with a layer of cement and built walls around it so that it would never see the light of day. When my coach asked me what had happened, I lied and told her that I’d fallen down a set of stairs in the dorm. I don’t think she ever bought that excuse."

She took in a deep breath. "Then I started drinking. Not much at first. Just enough to stop the nightmares. But then the nightmares started happening during the day, so I started drinking then, too. I had periods of rage so intense that I’d lash out at anyone and anything. At first, I’d use those periods to my advantage during the games. No one could beat me there. No one. But then I started taking my anger out on my teammates and my coaches." The twisted smile came again. "It got so bad that I got benched. My coach told me that she didn’t care if we lost every single game the rest of the season. If I didn’t get the stick out of my ass, that ass was going to be riding the bench until I was old and gray."

"What did you do?"

"I thought about quitting, of course. After all, I was Dylan Lambert, the Goddess! Who was she to tell me I couldn’t play!"

"But you didn’t."

"No. I didn’t. I realized that I needed some help. Needed someone to turn to who would understand what I had been through, what I was still going through. It turned out to be one of the assistant coaches, who’d been through something similar. And when I finally let out all the anger and the hatred and the fear that had been eating me up for months, god…I felt like the world had been lifted off my guts and I could breath again. I felt…free. Clean. I reclaimed my strength. My true strength, not a strength born of rage. And I never looked back."

A silence as deep as the bottom of a grave slipped between them, and after a long moment, Dylan chanced to look up. What she saw made her chest tighten again.

Large, silent tears rolled one after the other down Cat’s cheeks. Her expression was that of a lost child desperately looking for a way home.

Quite without her conscious permission, Dylan found herself moving forward and grasping the smaller woman in a gentle embrace. An embrace which Cat accepted willingly, clutching Dylan’s shirt in an iron grip.

"It’s alright," Dylan soothed, rubbing Cat’s back. "Let it out. I’m here. It’s okay. I won’t let go."

********

Several days later, after practice, Cat stood wiping her face with a towel when she felt a presence next to her. Drawing the towel away, she looked up, smiling, into the face of her coach. "What’s up?" she asked, relaxed and happy for the first time in weeks. The impromptu meeting with Dylan had done her more good than even she was willing, or able, to admit.

Dylan returned the smile, blue eyes sparkling in the harsh lighting of the arena.

God you’re beautiful.

It wasn’t the first time that particular thought ran through Cat’s head. In fact, it was becoming more repetitive as the days and weeks passed.

I think this is going beyond the ‘I have a crush on my coach’ stage, Cat. Better rein it in, girl. You are so not ready for that.

So deep in her own thoughts was she that she almost missed the next words out of Dylan’s mouth.

"If you’re not doing anything after practice, would you like to go for a drive with me? I have something that I’d like you to see."

In her current state, Cat could have easily mistaken Dylan’s question for a proposition—heck, her body was responding already. Pleasantly, at that. But one look in those clear, magnificent eyes told her it was friendship, not intimacy, that was to be on the agenda for the afternoon.

Her hormones got a kick in the shins as she screwed on her best smile. "Sure! What did you have in mind?"

"It’ll explain itself when you see it."

"Hmm. Going all mysterious on me, are you?"

Dylan’s smirk was her only answer.

*******

"Wow," Cat groaned as she sunk into the padded leather luxury of Dylan’s 427SC Cobra. "Maybe I’ll skip playing altogether and move right into coaching, if this is how the other half lives."

"The ‘other half’ got this while she was still playing," Dylan remarked, eyes shifting rapidly from her rearview mirror to the windshield and back again as she maneuvered the sports car into thick, rush hour traffic.

"Oh. Guess that means I’ve gotta stick around a few more years, then, huh?"

Dylan smiled slightly. "That would be best, yes."

The two settled quickly into a comfortable silence; a silence broken only by the wind as it rushed through their hair, whipping it back in flying streamers of black and gold. Soon, rush hour traffic was a thing of the past as Dylan took an exit off the main freeway and headed north. City congestion dwindled into rural complacency, and greenery began to make a reappearance. Further on, ranches, farmlands, and large estates dotted the landscape here and there; the dark, straight ribbon of highway cutting through like a plumb line.

Cat took in several deep breaths of clean, country air and grinned. A city girl by nature, she’d always loved trips into the country, especially when she was young. Her father would get it into his head that the family "needed air", and off they’d go, half in the old VW bus they named "Stinky", and the other half in the wood-paneled station wagon.

God, Cat thought, we were the Brady Bunch come to life!

Shuddering at the thought, she pushed it down and away, instead concentrating on the beautiful scenery passing quickly by.

At last, after almost an hour of travel, Dylan pulled into a long driveway and came to a stop in front of a large ranch house. When Dylan shut the engine off, Cat could hear the barking of dogs and the whinnying of horses. Bemused, she levered herself out of the car and watched as the front door opened and a tall, handsome woman appeared. In her early forties, she wore her long, blonde hair tightly braided. Her eyes, a deep amber, were very intelligent, and her smile was radiant as she spied Dylan unfolding herself from the car.

The two women met midway between the house and the car, and embraced tightly. Watching the reunion from her place by the car, Cat felt a spark of something she refused to identify as jealousy move through her. She shook the feeling off and approached the duo as they broke apart, turning their smiles on her.

"Catherine, I’d like you to meet Tamara, an old friend. Tam, this is Cat."

The two exchanged warm handshakes. "C’mon then," Tam said, gesturing with her chin. "Let’s go see what you came for."

As the tall blonde strode away, Cat was left to look up at Dylan. "Coach?"

"Mm?"

"What did we come for?"

Dylan smirked. "You’ll see."

The pair walked down a winding brick path that rounded the corner of the large house. A huge, fenced corral became immediately visible, as did several striking horses who frolicked and danced in the warm sun. Tam opened a small gate and a group of large, sleek, black dogs came bolting out, barking wildly.

Cat stiffened in fear, instantly transported back to age seven, when she had been walking home from school and a German Shepherd had chased her down the block, snapping and slathering. She’d been scared to walk home for a week after that incident. It had taken twice that long for the nightmares to go away.

"Shit," she managed to get out of a suddenly closed throat, before noticing that the dogs weren’t headed for her, but for Dylan, who stood directly in their path. An instinctive reaction broke through her temporary paralysis and she jumped forward, pushing Dylan just as the dogs collided with the tall woman.

The entire group went down in a jumbled heap. Intuitively, Cat brought her arms up around her head, waiting for the sharp white teeth to puncture and rend and tear at her flesh and bone. She could hear Dylan groan and feel her body shake.

No! she silently screamed, trying her hardest to push up from the pile. But Dylan’s body was too heavy, especially with the dogs on top of it. She might as well have been trying to move a mountain.

As she took a deep breath to try again, she was stilled by sounds of….laughter?

What the….?

Suddenly, as if a cork had been released from a bottle, the pressure eased and Cat was able to roll away. As she sat up, muscles tense, she realized that she really had heard what she thought she did. Dylan was laughing!

And the dogs, far from attacking her coach, were fighting to lick each and every inch of skin they could find; and on Dylan, that was a lot of skin.

"Anschlag!"

The dogs, six in all, immediately dropped to their bellies, looking guilty as only scolded puppies can. Tamara strode toward them, biting the inside of her cheeks to keep from laughing. Dylan, under no such pretense, was still laughing as she rose to her feet and reached down to haul Cat up as well. She easily caught the towel Tam tossed her way and set to wiping off a gallon of dog drool that covered her face, arms, and hands.

The pack looked on.

Cat looked bewildered.

Dylan rolled her eyes and tossed the towel back to Tam. Then she turned to Cat. "I’d like you to meet Frigga, Odin, Thor, Beowulf, Syn, and Hamlet."

Cat turned her bemused look from Dylan, to the dogs, to Tamara, and back again.

The dogs whined.

Tamara laughed.

Dylan sighed. "I have two Dobies of my own at home, Brunhilde and Siegfried. They’re brother and sister. Siegfried got snipped, and this is Brunhilde’s first, and only, litter. Tamara trains guard dogs, and that’s what this motley group is supposed to be."

"Oh, they are, never fear," Tam replied, smirking. "They just know better than to attack the big chief."

"They’re beautiful," Cat said once she found her voice.

And they were. Sleek, shiny and well muscled, each black and tan dog was a model of its breed. Their eyes were intelligent and lively, and their teeth, Cat noticed, were wickedly long, white and sharp.

"Yes, they are," Dylan agreed. "The sire is over there."

Cat looked in the direction of Dylan’s pointing finger, easily spying a huge black Doberman sitting just inside the fence, eyeing the scene with proprietary interest.

"I’d like you to have one."

The bewildered look reappeared on Cat’s face. "Me?"

"Yes, you. I know your complex allows pets, and you look like a dog lover."

"Oh, I am, but…."

"They’re well trained," Tamara interjected, walking over to the group. "Except when Dylan’s around."

Dylan snorted.

"Completely housebroken," Tam continued, shooting Dylan a look, "very devoted, and extremely protective of their master."

"It’s nice to have someone around to talk to who won’t argue with you. And…." Dylan paused, looking directly at Cat, "they can help make nightmares go away."

Understanding dawned, and Cat felt a warmth steal into her. She smiled. "They can, huh?"

Dylan returned the smile, her eyes warm and affectionate. "Guaranteed."

Cat took a long look at the dogs again, smiling at their inquisitive expressions. "I bet raising and training these beauties costs a lot of money," she said as casually as she could. "How much would one of them go for?"

Tamara grinned. "Oh, usually about twelve to fifteen hundred."

"Dollars?!" Cat half-choked.

Tam’s grin broadened. "That’d be it, yes." She crossed her arms over her chest. "However, as trainer and owner of the sire, I’m authorized to give you a very…deeply discounted…price."

"How deep."

"How’s ‘free’ sound?"

Dylan chuckled at Cat’s speechlessness. "I didn’t bring you up here to sell you a dog, Cat. I brought you up here to give you one."

"But…I couldn’t…."

"Sure you can. Just say ‘yes’. Unless you’re not a dog person."

"I am, but…."

"Or just don’t want one."

"I do, but…."

"Good. It’s a deal, then. Pick your poison."

"You’re serious, aren’t you."

"As a heart attack."

"Wow." She looked over the dogs, then back at Dylan. "You’re sure?"

Dylan grinned. "I’m sure."

"Ok. So…how does one go about picking their poison?" Cat grinned, wrinkling her nose. "I mean, my dad always picked out our dogs from the pound. With ten kids all shouting different preferences to him, he always decided to just go it alone. I couldn’t tell a good dog from a bad one if you paid me."

"Ah, but that’s where you’re lucky," Tamara replied. "I can tell, and these are all ‘good ones’. And I’m not just saying that because my male is their sire. I’ve had them since birth, and I’ll guarantee that there’s not a bad one in the bunch."

"So how do I choose?"

"Hut." At the soft command, the dogs rose to their haunches in unison. At a nod from Tamara, they stood and walked over to Cat, greeting her with wagging tails and playful nudges.

Cat laughed and pet the mass of fur wiggling around her until she heard a soft growl. She pulled her hand away quickly, and straightened, looking over at Dylan.

Tamara laughed. "Well, well, well, that makes it easier, doesn’t it."

Cat turned her questioning gaze to Tam.

"Looks like instead of choosing, you got chosen." Following Tam’s gaze, Cat noticed one dog sitting proudly at her side. The rest of the pack had moved off in response to the growl. "Cat, meet Hamlet. He’s decided you’re going to be his human and it doesn’t look like he’s going to take ‘no’ for an answer."

As Cat looked down into the golden brown eyes of her new dog, she instantly fell head over heels in love. "Hello, Hamlet," she said softly, scratching him behind the ears. Hamlet gave a soft "wuf!" and licked her hand. "It’s nice to meet you too," she replied, laughing.

*******

Cat walked into the pet store, not really knowing what she wanted for her new best buddy, but knowing that it had to be something special. She had already loaded him up on the ‘right’ food and treats. And since he was sleeping at the foot of her bed, she wasn’t particularly concerned with finding him a bed. She liked him right were he was.

"Toys." She nodded and headed down the isle. "That’s what my boy needs, toys." She didn’t like the way he had been eyeing her sneakers. Even though he was older and a fully trained guard dog, he still got that mischievous puppy glint in his eyes, especially when she rubbed his belly at night when they watched TV.

She was looking at a large rawhide bone when a very familiar voice got her attention. "Don’t buy him rawhide."

She looked up to find the coach standing on the other side of the isle. "No?"

"No." Dylan shook her head. "It’s bad for them." The woman walked around and handed Cat a large black object looked like a cross between hard rubber snowman and something vaguely obscene. "It’s called a Kong. It’s nearly indestructible against those teeth."

Cat smiled and took the toy. "Ugly thing."

"No uglier than the shredded remains of your lucky playing shoes."

"Mm. You’ve got a point there." She tossed the toy in her basket. "Thanks."

"Not a problem. I was getting food for my beasts and saw your truck in the lot. Nice one, by the way."

Cat grinned. "Thanks. It’s the first new car I’ve owned. Of course, it’s nothing like yours, but…"

"You’ll get there."

"Someday." She looked down to her shoes as a blush crept up her cheeks. "Thanks by the way."

"For?"

"Everything. The talk. Taking me to get Hamlet. Being my friend."

Dylan sighed and handed her yet another toy for what she knew was going to be a rambunctious Doberman. "It’s easy being your friend Cat. I hate it that you got hurt, the least I can do it try to help a little."

"You’ve helped a lot."

"I’m glad to hear it."

"Hey," Cat fingered the toys in her hands. "Can I buy you lunch?"

"Do you promise not to eat something that looks like it’s going to crawl off the plate?"

The blonde chuckled. "I promise. No rare steaks."

"Thank you."

*******

Sitting across from each other, Cat’s thoughts were in a whirl, and spent the first twenty minutes at the table running her finger over the rim of the glass. Dylan sipped her tea and finally broke the silence.

"Are the bad dreams easing up?"

Yeah," she nodded. "I still have them but I wake myself up before it gets too bad." She smiled. "And Hamlet’s a big help. Just knowing he’s there…well…it helps a lot."

"Told ya."

"Yeah, you did." She took in a breath and blew it out slowly. "So, have you been having problems with the head office over this?"

"Nothing I can’t handle Cat. Don’t worry about it. Mac and I have it under total control."

"If there is anything I can do, let me know."

"You just keep on your game and I’m happy."

"I’m doing my best."

"I know." Dylan picked at her salad and finally sighed. "Look. Johnson is a bigoted, small minded son of a bitch, it’s true. But he’s also a slave to the almighty dollar. As long as we keep pulling money in, he’ll back off." Her tone softened. "I just don’t want to see you get hurt again."

Cat smiled. "Thanks, Coach."

Dylan looked vaguely embarrassed, and she took a moment to sip her tea. "Have you always been ‘out’?"

Cat blinked at the unexpected question. "Um…yeah. Pretty much. I mean I always knew, there was just something different. It took me years to figure it out, but once I did there was no hiding."

"And your folks have always been supportive?"

"Well my Dad was a little wigged at first, but he came around pretty quickly. My mom gave me the, ‘it’s not what I would choose for you, but if you’re happy’ lecture and we just went from there. My oldest brother told me I wasn’t allowed to scope out his girl friends."

Dylan nearly choked on her tea at the mental picture that went through her mind. She grabbed her napkin, managing to keep it in and swallow, with some effort. "That’s priceless."

"That’s my brother." Cat sighed. "I’ve had small run ins with a few small minded people before, but nothing like this. For me it’s just never been an issue. I didn’t make it an issue, so it wasn’t. Any particular reason why you asked?"

Dylan shrugged. "Just curious, I guess. If I stepped over the line, I apologize."

"Hey.," Cat reached over and patted Dylan’s hand. "It’s okay, you didn’t pry. It’s always better to ask rather than carrying around a lot of misconceived notions."

"Oh I don’t think you have to worry about that. I’m pretty worldly you know. Been around the block a few times," Dylan teased, smirking.

Cat returned the smirk. "I’m sure you have."

The two locked glances for a long moment, and the air between them grew almost palpable. Cat finally cleared her throat and took a sip of water. "So….my turn. Answer a question?"

"Sure. Turn about is fair play."

Caught out, Cat asked the first question that came into her mind. "Why are you alone?"

Oh, dear god, I can’t believe I said that!!!

Dylan’s eyebrow crawled slowly up her forehead and stayed there. "What makes you think I’m alone?"

Oh well, in for a penny… "Well, Hunter just doesn’t seem to be your type."

"And why not? He’s a good guy."

Because he’s a good guy, you stinker. "I’m sure he is. But he’s so, so…"

"Tall?" Dylan smirked.

"Yeah, tall. Come on."

"Tan?"

Cat just bit her lip and shook her head. "Now you’re just being mean. He’s just not your type."

Dylan licked her lips and smiled. "And what, exactly, is my ‘type’?"

Aww shit. Hoist by my own petard. Par for the course around her, actually. "Um…not him?"

Dylan laughed, deciding to let her young friend off the hook. "He’s not really, and to answer your first question, I guess I don’t really see myself as being ‘alone’. I mean, I have my team, and my work. It takes up a great deal of my time and energy. I’m not really social by nature so…." She shrugged. "It works out for the best." Then she smiled. "Besides, I haven’t found anyone who can put up with me yet."

"I find that very hard to believe."

"I’m hard to live with. I have a certain way I like everything."

"You fold your socks don’t you?" Cat teased and leaned forward. "Go on, you can admit it. You’re a sock folder."

"I also squeeze toothpaste from the bottom of the tube."

"Oh you’re one of those." She giggled when Dylan nodded.

"Guilty." The coach looked up from her glass. "I guess I just haven’t found the right," she paused and decided that it wasn’t worth hiding from Cat anymore. The young woman had been totally honest with her she owed her the same. "Woman."

Cat nearly choked on the ice she had started crunching. "Wow."

"What?"

"I didn’t expect you to say that."

"I didn’t expect to say that either, but, well I think I can trust you."

"You can."

"I know."

The silence fell between them again; the pregnant kind that you could slice with a knife.

They are so blue. It’s a pool I think I could dive into and never want to leave.

The waitress approached and slid Cat’s dessert, a thick slice of warm apple pie with a large scoop of slowly melting vanilla perched atop it, in front of the young woman, breaking the moment.

Cat took a large bite and moaned with gastronomic ecstasy.

Dylan swallowed hard through a bone dry throat. Then quaffed her entire glass of tea in one gulp. She thought about rolling the glass over her suddenly hot forehead, but decided against it.

"So, tell me," Cat continued casually, "who is the perfect woman? For you, I mean."

She’s doing this on purpose. I know she is.

Dylan thought it over for a moment. "I guess she’d have to be able to keep up with me. Find my job as exciting as I do, but be able to have her own life so when I’m on the road I don’t feel like I’m being neglectful."

"How about a woman who would like to travel with you?"

"That could be nice." Dylan’s head wobbled a bit, as she seemed to be considering it. "Tricky, but fun."

"Nah," Cat waved her hand at the coach. "Just give her a job with the team. Chief Towel Girl or something."

"Towel Woman."

"Right."

Dylan sobered a bit. "I guess I’d just have to find someone who enjoys life as much as I do. I’m a fairly quiet person, but I enjoy the finer things and I’d like someone who could share that with me."

"So," Cat leaned in again, "do you like to curl up in front of a fire with a good book or an old movie and listen to the rain on the roof?"

"Yeah, yeah I do."

"Me too." Cat’s watch beeped, and she looked down. "Damn."

"What’s the matter?"

"Oh, it’s nothing, really. It’s my Mom’s birthday and I promised I’d call her before my dad takes her away for the weekend." She sighed. "I don’t think I’ll be able to get home in enough time."

"No worries," Dylan replied, retrieving her phone from her belt. "Use mine."

"Thanks!"

*******

Cat closed and locked the door of her apartment behind her, as it had become her routine since the attack. Before she could open her mouth, Hamlet came bounding into the room and pranced at her feet waiting to be acknowledged. Cat dropped to her knees and gave him a hug and a good scratch behind the ears. "How’s my new baby?"

She was rewarded with a long wet dog kiss, which tickled her nose and caused her to fall back on the floor. This was an open invitation to Hamlet to play with his new mistress and they soon were involved in a wrestling match. Cat paused when the phone rang, but she decided to let the machine get it and she continued playing with the dog.

"Cat? Are you home?"

She stopped again when Dylan’s voice came across the room. She started to get up but decided against it when Hamlet threw himself unceremoniously into her lap and flopped over to get his stomach scratched.

"Ok, well I seem to have left my cellphone with you, so if you could bring it to practice tomorrow that’d be great. Oh, and thank you for buying me lunch. You really didn’t have to do that, but it was very nice of you."

Cat smiled. Hamlet seemed to kind of purr.

"So, um, well…thanks. And I’ll see you tomorrow at practice. Get some rest." There was a long pause and she added, "If you need anything you have my number."

"Unless you’ll come over and give me a long massage, I’m not calling." She looked down at her dog. "God I’m losing it."

"Bye."

There was a click and then Dylan’s vocal presence was gone and Cat missed it.

"Yup, I’m losing it."

She gave the dog one last scratch and then gave him the toy she had bought. Then she went for a shower, a cold shower. Dylan Lambert was really starting to have some effects that she wished she had some better control over.

Such as the smile that was threatening to become permanently etched on her face.

******

The fans let out yet another long groan when the ball failed to go in. For whatever reason, the Badgers where playing ball like a freshman high school team; their passing game was off, their shooting game was horrible and their defense seemed to be non-existent. It was as if they were playing under water.

On the other hand, the Pistols were hot with a capital H and they were making the Badgers work and sweat. Within the first ten minutes of the first period they led by ten points and showed no signs of letting up.

The Pistols hailed from the mean streets of Camden, and their lineup looked like it had come fresh from the pages of the now defunct XFL. Full of cast-offs and rejects, what they lacked in talent, they more than made up for in intimidation. They were a roller derby team gone mad, and they thrived on the image that had taken them all the way to the second round of the playoffs last year.

To make matters worse, the referees seemed to be living in the Pistols’ back pocket. Either that, or they were affected with a sort of selective blindness. Half of the players on the Badgers were sporting some injury or other from vicious blocks and charges, and the Refs hadn’t seen a thing. Or if they had, the Badgers were called for the foul. Barely through the first quarter, the first Badger had already fouled out, and several others were on their third.

One look at Dylan and Hodge knew they were in for it during the half. The coach was not amused, and she spent half her time pacing back and forth, and the other half with her arms crossed over her chest, shooting dirty looks onto the court. Cat got caught in that laser-like glare and resolved not to look to the sideline for the rest of the half for fear of being incinerated on the spot.

She took the inbounds pass and dribbled it to half court. Things were looking good until she bounced passed the ball to where Coles was supposed to be. Instead, a hulking mass received the pass pretty as you please and rifled it off to her point guard. "Shit!" Cat yelled, backpedaling in an effort to keep up with the Pistols’ point guard. It was a useless effort, and Cat flung her hands outward as the player she was guarding hit a three point shot with no effort at all.

The buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the half. The Badgers hustled off the court to their locker room. Cat looked up into the crowd. It was clear they were disappointed by the fact that their team was now sixteen points behind, but she was relieved to see that they weren’t leaving en masse.

In the locker room, everyone took a seat on the long benches, wiping their necks and heads with towels as they waited for the appearance of their coach. Cat looked around, seeing the dismal expressions on the faces of her teammates. It was as if they were awaiting execution.

A moment later, Dylan strode in, her face an angry mask. "Somebody want to explain to me exactly what was going on out there? I thought I came to coach a basketball game, but obviously, I was mistaken"

Cat couldn’t even look at her coach. She figured it was in her best interest just to listen, because if she looked up and saw disappointment in Dylan’s face it would kill her.

"Did you guys not get enough rest last night? You’re playing like crap. You’re letting a second rate team beat you on your own turf. I know you guys are better than this. What’s the problem?"

No one was brave enough to answer so Dylan continued. "You’re playing like a high school team!" Her lancing gaze zeroed in on one particular player. "You decided to join the WWF, Chaney? Jesus! They’re not scoring enough points on their own, so you decided to give them a couple for free??"

"You saw that charge, Coach!" the guard responded, nursing her rapidly blackening left eye. "Hell, everyone in the stands saw it!"

"And that gave you the right to make like Mike Tyson and clean her clock?"

"Damn straight," Chaney agreed. "Bitch had it coming."

"So, you thought it was worth a Technical."

"Well…"

"Good answer, Chaney. Did your self-promotion to team thug come with a decrease in IQ?"

"C’mon, Coach. The refs are killing us out there!"

The rest of the team muttered their assent.

"Oh, so that’s it, huh?" Dylan asked, continuing to pace. "The refs are playing favorites, and you’ve decided to just give up. Is that the way we’re playing it now?"

There was some muted grumbling, but no one had the guts to answer outright.

"Fine. Well then, hit the showers. I’ll go tell the refs that we’re forfeiting the game. Our fans don’t deserve the torture of a second half of this shit you call playing." She stared at them all. "Well? Go on. Get changed."

As she turned, Cat’s voice broke the silence. "Coach…."

Dylan turned back, pinning Cat with her glare. "You have something to add, Catherine? You haven’t added much during the game."

Cat flushed at the rebuke, but held her ground. "I know coach. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not playing worth a damn. But…I’m not ready to give up yet. I think we can win. I know we can. I’m asking for another chance to prove ourselves."

Dylan’s eyes narrowed in challenge. "And how do you intend to do that?"

Cat took in a deep breath as she thought about her answer. "Look. I know I’ve got the least amount of professional experience here, but I also know what it’s like to go up against a team of bruisers whose only skill is intimidation. I’ve been through my share of those games in high school and college. We probably all have."

Most of the players nodded.

"I can’t speak for anyone but myself, but I know that I’m playing the way I am because I’m frustrated. And I also know that that is exactly what they want. It’s why they’re doing it. And I think that they think of us as some second rate loser team that they can just bowl over with their tactics and we’ll run home with our tails tucked between our legs." Her eyes scanned the team, seeing grudging agreement in most of their faces. She smiled a little. "Face it, the Badgers haven’t always had the best reputation." Her face became serious. "But we’re not those Badgers anymore. We’re a different team with a different attitude, and I’m going to try my best to play with that attitude for the rest of this game."

An assortment of cheers came from the ranks.

"I think that we’ll all play better if we accept these two basic facts. The referees are blind, and our opponents are bullies. Accept those facts, deal with them, and move past them. If we stick to our own game plan and don’t let their tactics affect us, they’ll be the ones getting frustrated before long."

Dylan looked on, keeping a smile of pride from creeping onto her face by determination alone. Before her eyes, Catherine was fully becoming the leader Dylan had known she would be. It was a wonderful sight.

When one of the timekeepers stuck her head in the room and told Dylan that it was time to return to the court, the coach stepped back and allowed a much more enthusiastic team stream past.

Only then did a smile fully bloom on her face.

*******

Back on the court, Cat was pleased to see that most of the crowd had remained despite the team’s horrible effort, and she vowed right then and there if there was any way to pull this game out, she was going to do it for her team mates, her coaches and the fans.

She took the time to offer words of encouragement to other members of her team, and was pleased with the intent, confident looks she in turn received.

The second half began. It was blistering from the start. The Pistols started in with their old tactics of slash and burn, and the Badgers did their best to ignore them.

There was a new sense of purpose and determination in the Badgers, and it was manifesting itself rather quickly. With Cat firmly manning the helm, they managed to close the gap down to two points in the first seven minutes, though Coles, their best forward, picked up two quick fouls and had to sit out the rest of the game.

Anya, the Ukrainian walk on, took over. She was used to the more physical play from her days in the World Leagues, and she handled the attacks on her with grace and flair, quickly scoring a sweet three-pointer on a no-look pass from Cat that finally put the Badgers up by a point.

The crowd was on their feet when their team took the lead. The energy was crackling through the arena like small bolts of lightening and Cat could feel the hair on her arms stand on end.

The Pistols however, weren’t quite ready to give up. One of their forwards became free on a fast break, and with an uncontested lay-up, the lead was theirs once again.

As Cat charged back down the court, dribbling easily and flashing the play to her teammates, she easily avoided a hand that tried to clothesline her. A quick head duck, and a left-right juke, and she crossed over half court, waiting for the play to develop around her.

The defense was a simple man-to-man, and Chaney executed a perfect pick, allowing Cat to come free. Then the shooting guard took a step back off her defender, received Cat’s bullet pass, and sunk a shot from just inside the key. Pumping her fist in the air, she then swatted Cat a good one on the rump as they both ran down the court to take up their defensive positions.

Cat spared a quick glance at the play clock and, seeing four minutes proudly displayed, realized for the first time in her professional basketball career, that these were going to be the longest four minutes of her life.

She wasn’t wrong.

The Pistols took their time, slowing their game, and watching as the clock ticked down its final minutes. Try as they might, the Badgers couldn’t come up with a steal, and Cat watched in disgust as their defensive scheme broke down and an easy shot was scored.

The return charge didn’t make it to the basket, aborted by a steal. The Pistols’ point guard dribbled the ball and headed back down court with the Badgers hot on her heels.

Two minutes on the clock and the crowd was nearly crazed at this point. Watching their team come back from what should have been a thrashing and then watching them work to get and keep the lead had the crowd constantly one their feet.

Cat watched as the shot was attempted and missed. The ball practically fell into her hands and the reverse was made. She headed back down court. Looking up, she saw a wall of Pistols running up on her, looking huge and hungry as they approached. Staring toward the basket, she realized she had only one option. Taking the shot, she waited as it seemed time slowed down. For her it was like a scene out of a bad sports movie. She could see, hear and feel the breath leaving her body as she willed the ball to go in.

"YES!" She took a split second to thank God or whatever Supreme Being watched out for basketball players, off after the opposition.

She knew with ten seconds left on the clock this was going to be the Pistols’ last chance, and she was prepared for it. She did her job and made it impossible for their point guard to get a clean shot. She managed to hold her off for four full seconds until a pass was made to one of the forwards.

The shot went up, arcing into the air as if riding on the tails of a rainbow.

It got nearly deathly quiet in the arena, as every single eye followed the ball. Watching it approach the net, Cat heard the buzzer and prayed.

Those prayers were answered when the ball hit the rim and bounced back, striking the court and rolling harmlessly out of bounds. Her shout of victory was drowned out by the screaming of the frenzied crowd and the cheering of her teammates as they surrounded her in a happy jumble.

But the thing she noticed most was the wink and nod from the sidelines before Dylan's attention was intercepted by the Pistols' coach, coming to eat crow.

Sometimes, she thought, holding that small bit of praise tight to her soul, life can be good.

********

The celebration in the locker room turned into an impromptu party befitting the winning of a championship instead of simply triumphing in a game they had been expected to win. Still, the coaches allowed the frivolity, knowing there was a good deal of pent up energy needing to be expended, and further knowing that a release was better here than out in public where fights tended to get started.

It wasn’t until well after midnight when the group finally headed out of the locker room and through the now empty arena, ready for a well-earned night’s sleep. Cat stepped into the cool darkness of the night with Shaniqua on her left and Anya on her right. Above the sounds of their laughter, she heard a peculiar chirping noise that came up from the duffle slung over her shoulder. Unzipping the bag, she reached inside and came out with a tiny cellphone belonging to Dylan. And it was telling her that someone had called and left a message.

"Oohhh," Chaney ribbed, making a fake grab for the phone. "Hot date tonight, Shortchange?"

"Very funny," Cat replied, hastily hiding the phone behind her back. "It isn’t mine."

Chaney’s eyes widened. "Ya don’t say… ." Her grin deepened into a leer. "Been holding out on us, tiny?"

Cat was thankful the darkness hid her blush as she realized that she had just opened a can of worms best left closed. "Um…listen…I gotta go back inside. There’s a message. You know…."

"Privacy. Gotcha, Shortchange. You sure you’re gonna be alright walkin’ out here by yourself?"

Cat had to smile. Ever since the attack, her teammates—and Shaniqua in particular—had taken it upon themselves to be her personal bodyguard cum escort. "Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll be fine. The coaches are still inside, so if I need to, I’ll walk out with them."

"Alright, then. You have a good time with your…date." A flash of white teeth, and Shaniqua was swallowed up by the darkness.

Shaking her head and laughing a little, Cat turned on her heel and jogged back into the building. She’d made it to the stands when Coach Caulley stepped out and grabbed her elbow. "Woah. Where’s the fire, Hodges?"

"Sorry Coach," Cat replied, slightly winded. "I just….is Coach Lambert around?"

Caulley’s eyes immediately narrowed. "Is something wrong?"

"No, not at all. I just need to talk to her for a minute. Do you know if she’s still here?"

"I think she went up to her office, but…."

"Thanks!" With that, Cat took off running again. She ran through the locker room, out the back, and down the hall past the infirmary until she got to an old, less than reliable freight elevator. Jamming on the ancient button set it creakily on its way, and she drummed her fingers against the peeling paint as she waited.

"Come on! Jesus, what are the monkeys that lower the cables on strike for more bananas or something? God!"

Several minutes later, the doors slid open with a grudging sigh, and Cat stepped in, praying yet again that she wouldn’t get stuck in the damn thing.

She didn’t, and when the doors finally opened, she stepped out into another narrow hallway. Unlike the grand corporate offices, the offices in the arena were small, cramped, and dark. Cat walked down the hall humming idly to herself until she came to the door she knew was Dylan’s. It was closed, but she could see a sliver of light spilling through the bottom, so she knocked.

After the second knock, when there was no answer, she tried the door handle. It was unlocked, and with tentative force, she opened the door and stepped inside.

The office was stark, with a battered desk, computer, and chair, and very little else. It was also empty.

There was another door directly opposite her, and Cat saw light from beneath that one as well. She cleared her throat. "Um…Coach? Coach Lambert? It’s Cat. I’ve brought you back your…."

Before Cat could finish, the second door opened, and Dylan strode out, wet from the shower she’d just taken, and completely naked save for the towel casually wrapped around her lean hips.

"….phone?" Cat squeaked as every muscle in her body locked. Except for her heart, which seemed to beat double time. A sudden influx of hormones caused a full, head-to-toe flush to break across her body, and although her brain was sending urgent messages to her eyes, they were—thank you very much—quite content to remain where they were; on Dylan’s magnificent breasts.

Dear God, get a grip! Her brain shouted, trying to urge locked muscles into action. You’ve seen naked women before! Hell, you even showered with a whole group of them not more than a half hour ago!

Yeah, but none of those were Dylan Lambert.

The rest of her body happily agreed with this statement; her eyes most of all as they finally allowed slight movement and traced the tight, banded muscles of Dylan’s belly, then swept up and across impossibly broad shoulders and along a wonderful neck, before coming back down to their favorite targets and remaining there.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for this sinner now and….oh man…just now, please.

In reality, this entire internal dialogue had taken up less than two seconds, but to Cat, it seemed like an eternity. A very blissful eternity, but an eternity nonetheless.

Dylan didn’t appear to notice the rapt perusal as she smiled a greeting to Cat while walking over to the desk upon which her clothes were stacked.

"I don’t know whether I should thank you or curse you for bringing that back," Dylan remarked as she picked up a black T that sat on top of the stack. "I haven’t missed the damn thing all weekend."

The towel dropped away and Cat’s brain turned into hissing white static as the most beautiful posterior she’d ever seen in her life came fully into view.

"You’re awfully quiet this evening," Dylan remarked, glancing quickly over her shoulder before shaking out her jeans. "Something wrong?"

The words, finally loosed, came in a rush. "Who me? No, nothing’s wrong. Not at all, no. Just came by to drop of your phone. Thanks, by the way."

Dylan, now fully clothed save for her bare feet, turned and gave Cat a curious look. "For?"

Cat gave an embarrassed laugh. "For, you know, letting me use your phone. I was able to get to my mom before she left for the weekend. So…thanks."

"You’re welcome," Dylan replied, reaching for her socks and boots.

Cat found herself at a rare loss for words, but her body was telling her, in no uncertain terms, that it wasn’t about to leave the room just yet. She scratched the back of her neck, trying to order her thoughts. The task was, of course, impossible.

"So," she finally got out. "Some game, huh?"

Dylan snorted. "Oh yeah. The Rolaids company called and asked me to be their CEO. Seems I made them more money tonight than the rest of the country put together."

Cat winced. "Sorry."

Dylan shrugged. "Comes with the territory."

"Yeah, well, I’d prefer it if we didn’t visit that territory too often, if it’s all the same to you."

"I can live with that," Dylan replied, chuckling. Now fully clad, Dylan retrieved the phone Cat had brought and stuffed it into her own duffel, which she then slung over her shoulder. "Everything else going okay with you?"

Cat smiled brightly. "Oh yeah, just fine." And she meant it, too.

"Good." Dylan yawned. "Well, I’m ready to hit the bed. How ‘bout you?"

"Definitely! Bed sounds great!" She paused, then flushed again. "Mine, I mean. My bed. You know. Sleep….bed…." Her voice trailed off miserably as she gave herself a sharp internal kick.

Chuckling, Dylan laid a casual arm around Cat’s shoulders and steered her in the direction of the door. "C’mon, Shortchange. Time to go home."

*******

Two days later, after a thankful weekend break, the Badgers were back at it, practicing hard to ensure that there would be no more "Pistols problems" as they dubbed the last game. Each put in their best efforts, and when the practice was over, the coaches were well satisfied. Even Caulley, who wouldn’t be satisfied with a Championship trophy.

Disgusted by her forty percent foul shooting during the last game, Cat opted to resume her habitual drills after practice.

Unlike during the game, she sunk her foul shots with ease, so she moved back and tried threes from the perimeter. Those went in easily as well. Layups came next, and those were a bit harder because of her stature. She was always more comfortable shooting from the outside, but also knew that if the opportunity presented itself, she would need to be confident enough to drive to the hoop and take the shot, no matter who stood in her way.

Dylan walked silently into the empty arena, guided by the rhythmic thumping of a basketball. She leaned against the wall and watched for a couple of minutes before strolling further onto the court. Cat caught the ball and turned to face her coach

"Hi," she gasped, breathing hard and blowing out long, slow breaths to calm her racing pulse.

"Hi yourself," Dylan replied, gesturing toward the basket. "That was more than foul shooting. You were really working it."

"Yeah, well I need to get stronger driving into the paint. I don’t do it often, but I can’t be wary when I do."

"True." Dylan scratched above her brow. "Your game is good."

"Not good enough."

"Well, we can always get better." Smiling, she swatted the ball out of Cat’s hands and spun it on one finger. "Just don’t be too hard on yourself, ok?"

"Yeah," Cat chuckled. "Like you’re not."

"Hey! I’m the coach. It’s my job to be hard on myself."

"Hmmph." With a wicked grin, Cat reached out and grabbed the ball back. "Heh. How ‘bout a game? The Goddess against the mortal? First to eleven wins? Huh?"

Dylan’s grin was even more wicked. "Sure ya wouldn’t rather play shirts vs. skins?"

Cat actually heard her jaw click as it dropped open and hung there. Normally, she wouldn’t have been so wide-eyed, but the unexpected flirtation, coupled with the vision of last night, conspired together to force the expression onto Cat’s face.

Chuckling, Dylan grabbed the ball from Cat’s stunned hands, turned, and arced the ball through the net. She spun on her player, eyes twinkling. "First rule of immortal combat. Create opportunities and take advantage of them."

Cat gave a little grunt as the ball impacted lightly with her flat abdomen. She caught it reflexively and blinked. "You gonna flash me now?"

"Would it work?"

Cat’s look said it all, and Dylan laughed. "I’ll keep that in mind for later, then." She tapped the ball in Cat’s hands. "C’mon. Let’s see what you got."

What Cat had was a move that went exactly two steps into the paint before she was again summarily stripped of the ball and forced to calculate the angle of the curve made by Dylan’s body as she jammed the ball through the hoop.

"I hate you," she groaned, receiving the ball back.

"Hey. You challenged me, remember?"

"Okay, then. I hate myself."

Dylan laughed softly. "C’mon now. Two-zip. Your ball."

Cat tried. She really did. She tried as hard as she’d ever tried anything in her life. She pulled out every move in the book, invented some on the spot, and none of them worked. Her offense was useless, and her defense was even worse. Of course, they both acknowledged the inherent disparity between a small point guard and a towering forward with the wingspan of a condor, but still, Cat was determined to prove something.

Whether it was to herself or Dylan, she wasn’t sure.

The more she failed, the more frustrated she became, and the more frustrated she got, the sloppier her game became.

Until she remembered her own words of two nights before. How frustration plays right into the hands of an opponent and is something to be avoided at all costs.

Remembering this, she tried to relax, deliberately slowing her movements and running the plays through her head instead of relying on brute force and instinct. She also realized a fundamental truth. No matter how poorly she was playing, even at her best, there was no woman in the world who could do better against Dylan Lambert. And the only thing she could possibly do, faced with this fantastic opportunity, was play on, knowing she would only get better.

So intent was she on this new revelation, she completely missed the knowing—and slightly proud—smile on Dylan’s face.

Still, Dylan couldn’t pass up an attempt to razz her player. "Timeclock’s ticking down, shorty. You gonna dribble that ball or are you taking it home for a souvenir?"

Shaken from her reverie, Cat looked up, and grinned at the mirthful eyes gazing at her. Then, taking a deep breath, she made a quick step to her left, watching Dylan’s feet as she followed. Faking another step, she then executed a perfect spin move, and, spying the backboard in the "V" between Dylan’s head and her outstretched arm, launched an off-balance shot that, miracle of miracles, hit the rim and bounced on through.

"Yes!" Cat huffed, finally scoring her first point.

"Very impressive."

"Thanks!" Then she looked up at Dylan as the ball landed in her hands once again. "It’s your ball."

"Don’t wanna win yet," Dylan remarked, offhand.

Cat chuckled. "Cocky, aren’t ya."

Dylan shrugged. "Confident."

"Hm. Ok, I can go with that."

She tried the same move again, only from the opposite side. As expected, Dylan didn’t fall for the bait. Instead she backed up some, giving Cat a bit more room to maneuver, but also knowing her greater quickness and longer stride could close the gap when needed.

Cat took her time, eyes switching between the basket and Dylan as she calculated angles and her best chance of scoring. Knowing that Dylan’s weaker (if it could truly be termed that) side was her right, because of her knee, Cat exploited it, making Dylan put constant pressure on the joint in order to move with her as she guarded. Then she crossed over, then crossed over again, and charged toward the basket, full steam ahead.

Dylan managed to slip into a perfect stance a second before Cat hit the mark. She also knew that Cat had no chance of stopping, and that, further, her knee was straining past the limits she felt comfortable with.

Taking in a breath, she allowed Cat to run into her, but instead of bracing herself and chancing the knee, she grabbed Cat around the waist and fell back, hitting the ground hard with her player landing full atop her, nearly driving the breath from her lungs. The basketball skittered by and rolled harmlessly over the endline.

The kiss started slowly, naturally, given the close proximity of their lips, and grew from there into something quickly more heated. The passion, and the challenge, of the game they’d just played transferred itself into another contest, of sorts, as their bodies melded together in the sweat of their labors, each advancing, and giving way, in turn.

Soft moans drifted through the empty arena as each woman lost herself and her will in the taste of the other, in her softness and her heat. What they shared was raw, urgent, flaring to life between them and within them, leaving no space for softness or for gentleness.

And when it finally ended, they pulled away, breathing heavily, and lay blinking at one another, unable to believe what they had just shared.

"I…um…." Cat choked out, voice rough, cheeks flushed deep with passion.

"Yeah," Dylan returned, not having the breath for anything else.

*******

Cat stepped out of the shower in her apartment, still mumbling ‘oh shit, oh shit, oh shit’. Hamlet lifted his head from the foot of the bed where he was currently camped out keeping a watchful eye over his mistress. She looked at him as she slipped in her robe and roughly tied the belt into a tight knot. "How could I be so stupid?"

Hamlet yawned and laid his head back down.

She sat on the edge of her bed, fingers tapping and twitching nervously on her knees. "I need to talk to someone. Mom? No, no, no, bad idea." She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and let it out slowly. When she opened them she reached for the phone be the bed. Biting her lip she slowly dialed a number she knew by heart and then put the receiver to her ear.

On the third ring a familiar and very friendly voice answered. "Hello?"

"Lee, it’s Cat."

The voice on the other end was warm and sweet as honey. "Hiya darling. It’s been a while."

"Yeah, it has, and I’m sorry about that."

"It’s okay. I attribute it to the life of the newest star in the world of women’s b-ball."

"Well, sort of. It’s been hectic, but I should have called before now. I’m sorry."

"Hey, this is me remember. No apology necessary."

Cat smiled, Lee Carol had been the closest thing to a serious relationship Cat had ever engaged in. They had dated for their last two years in college, rather steadily, but it had never grown into the ‘I love you, can live my life without you’ kind of relationship many couples found themselves in after that length of time. Lee and Cat had always remained casual and it was good for both of them. When they graduated and went their separate ways, and they did so as very good friends.

"Lee I have a problem, and I need your advice."

"Anything, Cat. You know that."

"Well, you know who Dylan Lambert is, right?"

"How could I not know? She was always staring at us when we made love."

Cat chuckled. "Right. Well, the problem I have is with her."

"Okay…" Lee drew the word out, waiting for Cat to continue. When nothing was forthcoming, she sighed and prodded. "Are you having problems with your game? I caught the one on ESPN the other night. You looked pretty good."

"Oh you mean the Pistols fiasco? God what a game. That’s sorta…kinda…how my problem started."

"Cat, dear, I love you to death but if you don’t get to the point I will be forced to come over there and tickle it out of you."

Cat’s ribs twitched automatically at the remembrance of the many nights they had spent goofing off together, which usually resulted in Lee tickling Cat until she felt like she’d puke or pee herself. Many was the time she found herself begging for mercy. It was a mercy of the sweetest kind.

"Okay." Cat paused, then let her words go in a rush. "I kissed her."

"So?"

"So!? Jesus Christ, Lee! She’s my coach. My hero! My boss! I can’t kiss the boss."

"Sounds like you already did."

Cat sighed. "Yeah, I did," she admitted quietly. "What am I gonna do?"

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to crawl under a rock and stay there until Pallas Dylan Lambert retires to some ski resort somewhere."

"No an option. Next."

Cat twirled the phone cord in her fingers. "I could apologize, I guess."

"Are you sorry it happened?"

"No," she answered quickly and then changed it. "Yes, I mean…" She paused and picked the comforter. "I don’t know exactly. I mean….I’m really attracted to her."

"There ya go then. Is she attracted to you?"

Cat blinked and looked at the phone. Replacing it to her ear, she licked her lips before answering. "I don’t know."

"Have you ever though about…oh, I don’t know…asking her?"

"Are you insane?"

"Probably, but that’s besides the point. If you think she’s attracted to you, then ask her and figure out where to go from there. How did this kiss happen?"

"We were playing ball and I charged her, instead of moving she stayed there. I crashed into her and when we fell, I was on top of her and then I…I…well…"

"You kissed her."

"Uh-huh."

"Did she kiss you back?"

"Uh-huh." Cat felt oddly adolescent.

"Ask her."

"You’re not helping me here."

"What do you want me to say Cat? Send her a dozen roses and an apology note? I’m not going to give you bad advice. I’m giving you honest advice. Ask her how she feels."

"Lee, I’m not like you. I can’t ask that."

"All right. Then just let it drop and see how she’s acting. If she pulls back then accept her friendship. If she moves forward, jump her."

Cat laughed, feeling better than she had in the last few hours. "You know, I knew there was a really good reason I called you."

"Because I give great advice?"

"Because you’re full of shit and I really needed that tonight. I needed to get calmed down."

"Anytime, darling. You know you can call me anytime. I’m always gonna be here for you."

Cat smiled. "Thanks Lee."

There was a moment of comfortable silence between them.

"Catherine?"

"Yeah?"

"Don’t be a chicken shit. You’ll never know unless you go for it."

"Right. Bye Lee."

"Bye Cat."

She hung up the phone and then stripped of her robe and climbed into bed. "We’ll see how things go, huh buddy?" She scratched Hamlet behind the ears as he turned and stretched out next to her.

*******

Mac stepped out of his car, resisting the urge to jump right back in again as a huge, snarling beast lunged at him from the shadows of Dylan’s front porch.

"It’s okay, Brunhilde," he said, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible, and his bladder from letting go all over his trousers. "It’s Mac. Remember me?" The snarling continued. "Oh god, please remember me."

Coming into the light, Brunhilde slowed, stopped, and sat on her haunches, still growling at the man she knew very well.

"Nice puppy. Niiiiice puppy." He chanced a step away from the car.

Brunhilde barked.

He stepped back, and sighed.

"Look, girl, I know you’re just doing your job and all, but so am I. If I don’t get these papers signed by Dylan tonight, Johnson’s gonna have my ass." He sighed again. "And if I do get these papers to Dylan, you’re gonna have my ass."

Brunhilde whined.

"Great," he muttered. "It’s one in the morning and I’m talking to a damn dog." He looked down at the bristling canine. "Ok, look, here’s what I’ll do. If you let me go down so see your Mistress, the next time I come over, I’ll bring you the biggest, juiciest ham bone you’ve ever seen in your life. I won’t even bring one for your brother. You can lord it over him all you want. How’s that sound, huh? Pretty good, right?"

Brunhilde cocked her head, appearing to consider the situation. Then, with a soft, chuffing bark, she stood down and allowed Mac to move away from the car, though she glued herself to his side as he began to walk down the drive.

Knowing his friend well, Mac walked past the front door and around the side of the rambling house. Sure enough, the court at the bottom of the long hill was brightly lit by the floodlights surrounding it, and Mac could hear the rhythmic sound of the basketball hitting the clay.

Siegfried, trashed out after a long day of play, didn’t even bother to get up as Mac strode onto the court. Dylan finished the shot she was making, then turned to greet her visitor. Despite the late hour, she was covered with sweat, her jersey sticking to her in ways that made Mac—the most faithful of husbands—acutely uncomfortable.

"Hey," Dylan greeted, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.

"Hey yourself. What’s up? You’re not usually going this full out, especially this time of the night."

Dylan shrugged as she bent to retrieve the ball. "Got some things on my mind, I guess." She looked over at the sheaf of papers in Mac’s hand. "Those for me?"

"Yeah. Johnson’s scored this hot new Benz dealership for advertising bucks. He wants you to show up in two or three commercials with the owner’s pretty boy son, kiss up to your adoring public, and make him megabucks."

"Ah. The usual."

Mac chuckled, then grunted as Dylan grabbed the papers and pen, turned him around, bent him over slightly, and used his back to sign on the dotted line. When she handed the papers back, Mac took a good long look at her expression.

"You seem…pretty preoccupied, D. Everything alright?"

"Sure. Everything’s fine."

Mac laughed softly and lightly punched her shoulder. "I’ve heard cheerier executees, my friend. What’s up?"

Dylan looked at Mac for a long moment. Though it was true that she guarded her privacy more jealously than her faithful dogs guarded her, Mac was a dear and longtime friend. And she thought, just maybe, it would be good to open up.

"I kissed her," she said softly, as if that explained it all.

"Excuse me?" Mac asked, bringing a hand up to his ear. "Did I hear you say you kissed someone?"

Dylan shot him a look. "Catherine."

"Deneuve? Isn’t she a little old for you?"

"Hodges, you idiot."

"Cath—ohhh….ohhhh….oh no. Oh no, you did not just say you kissed your star player. I didn’t just hear that. I didn’t hear that at all." When Dylan didn’t respond, Mac spun on her. "Damnit, D, what were you thinking?!?"

"There wasn’t much thinking going on," Dylan admitted ruefully.

"Oh, this is bad." Mac began to pace, his boot heels striking the court hard as he stepped. "Oh, this is worse than bad. Awwww Christ."

"Calm down, Mac. You’re gonna give yourself a stroke."

Mac whirled again, eyes wide, temple vein standing out, throbbing. "Stroke? Good! If I’m lucky, I’ll be too out of it to see your career explode all over the front page news!!"

"Mac," Dylan replied with some heat, "it was a kiss, for god’s sake! It’s not like we’re getting married. Hell, we’re not even sleeping together."

Mac stopped. "You’re not?"

"No."

"But…you want to, right?"

"Jesus, Mac!" Dylan exploded. "Give me a little more credit than that! Give Catherine a little more credit!"

"So you don’t want to?"

Dylan threw her hands up in the air and walked off, leaving Mac to stare after her.

After a moment, Mac trotted after her. "Dylan…Dylan wait up. I’m sorry. I acted like an ass. I’m sorry."

Dylan slowed, but didn’t turn.

Mac sighed. "Listen…it’s just…. Aside from the fact that we’ve got a bigot for a boss, D, fraternization with one of your players goes against everything in your contract, from the morals clause on down. It’s not that she’s a woman. It’s that you’re her boss. Her being a woman is just icing on the cake."

He studied the tense and silent lines of her back. "Look, I know you already know all this. Hell, you probably know it better than me, but it’s….damnit, D, it’s my job to tell you."

"I know," Dylan said quietly, still facing away from him.

Mac relaxed a little. "And I’m your friend too, D. And I don’t want you in the position of having to defend your actions if Catherine wants to pursue a sexual harassment suit against you."

Dylan slowly turned. Her eyes were flaring, though outwardly, she appeared composed. "She won’t."

"But how do you know? I mean, don’t get me wrong, D, I like Cat. She’s a good kid. A helluva player. But…it’s happened before, with good people and good players. I don’t want it to happen to you this time."

"It won’t."

"How can you be so sure?"

Dylan sighed. "She initiated it, Mac."

Mac felt as if the weight of the world had rolled off his shoulders. "She initiated it?"

"That’s what I said."

"Thank God! Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?"

"She wasn’t alone in it, Mac. I responded. I enjoyed it. I….god." Her shoulders slumped and she stared down at the ground. "It’s something I was thinking about before it even happened."

"Awww, D."

"I know. I know. I’m attracted to her, Mac. Nothing I can do about that."

"You’ve been attracted to women before, D. You don’t always…."

"Kiss them?"

"Yeah."

"It just happened. It just…."

"Will it happen again?"

Dylan shook her head. "I don’t know."

Mac gentled his tone. "Do you want it to happen again?"

And that was the million dollar question. Part of her, a very large part, did want it. Another part, smaller but just as strident, wanted to run away screaming, for the exact reasons Mac had so succinctly spelled out to her. In the end, she answered the only way she could.

"I don’t know."

******

Part 3

She closed her eyes and finally fell into a fitful sleep. Her mind was wandering all over the spectrum. Part of her was admittedly rather giddy over the kiss, and another part of her was terrified that she had really messed up.

The dream started rather simply.

She was playing basketball.

The scene switched between the driveway of her parents home and the empty Badgers arena. She was shooting great, enjoying nothing but net every time.

Looking down, she realized she was stark naked.

Looking to the sideline, she also realized that Dylan Lambert was watching her, eyes avid to her every move.

She stopped and tried to cover her body with her hands, only to have Dylan smirk at her. The coach began walking forward slowly. Cat could hear her heart pounding in her ears and threatening to beat right out of her chest.

"Catherine?"

The player’s knees went weak with the seductive quality of Dylan saying her name. "Yes?"

"You’re very attractive."

"Thanks." she managed to squeak, wondering briefly why she was naked and Dylan wasn’t. What kind of screwed up dream is this anyhow?

"Very…." Dylan paused and ran her finger over Cat’s shoulder, causing her to shiver and further causing goose bumps to break out all over her skin. "…attractive."

"Oh God," Cat moaned when she felt Dylan’s lips where her fingers had been only a second before.

With a blur, the scene shifted again, and now she was standing in the pet store. She looked down and found that once again, the God of dreams had taken her clothes. Funny how no one else noticed, but there was Dylan Lambert, smirking.

Again.

Soon she found herself back up against a wall. Dylan was kissing her and pressed so hard against her body she could barely breathe. Where she should have panicked, all she felt was excitement. If this was a dream—and she knew it was—let it continue for eternity.

When she gasped, they shifted the floor of the arena and the kiss continued, long and passionate. Cat wanted nothing more than to crawl under Dylan’s skin and stay there.

She moaned, and suddenly woke up.

Hamlet was licking her face with the all enthusiasm of a man lost in the desert going after an oasis.

"Oh gross!" She pushed him away and wiped the copious amounts of puppy drool from her face. "Thanks for ruining a perfectly wonderful dream. Well, all except that naked thing."

She looked over at her alarm clock and realized it was already time to get up. Sighing, she got out of bed and trudged to the shower.

Once she was dressed, she grabbed Hamlet’s leash and took him out for his morning walk. It was raining, but not hard, and she decided there was no sense in going back for a jacket, because once Hamlet set his mind to the task at hand, it usually didn’t take very long. In less than ten minutes she was on her way back the apartment, just a little soggy, but with a happy puppy.

Breakfast was prepared; bacon and eggs for Cat, kibble for Hamlet. Per his morning routine, Hamlet ate, burped and then lay down by the front door. Cat continued to eat, and read the morning paper as she did. He eyes landed on an ad for cell phones and a blonde brow curved in contemplation.

"Maybe I should join the 21st century. Whaddya think Hamlet? Does Mom need a cell phone?"

On cue he rolled over on his back, with all four paws sticking in the air.

"Stop that, you look like road kill."

He whined and flopped over on his side.

"Thank you." She took another bite of her bacon and continued with the paper.

*******

Two hours later, Cat stood in front of the store holding her new cell phone in her hand and looking quite please with herself. Of course the two hundred dollars she had ended up spending on ‘extras’ nearly caused her heart to stop, but she chalked it up to a need and realized she could write it off on her taxes.

Climbing in her truck, she dug around in the sack until the found the adapter for the cigarette lighter. She fumbled with it for a moment then plugged it in, attaching her phone to let it charge.

"God, I’m pitiful." She mumbled aloud as she started the truck and pulled out into traffic. "I wonder what my friend would say if they knew I didn’t own a computer either."

She drove to a bookstore, where she picked up a copy of the newest murder mystery by her father’s favorite author, a new cookbook for her mother and gift cards for her brothers. She was waiting in line when she looked over at a rack of biographies a few feet away and she saw Dylan’s face.

"Now how did I miss that?" She stepped out of line and plucked the book from the rack and thumbed through it. She decided that with the up coming road trip it would be something to read. Of course, she’d have to put a shopping bag cover on it, so no one would tease her about it.

She got back in line and waited patiently as first an elderly customer couldn’t find her credit card and then a mother of three, tried to keep her children from grabbing their purchases so the clerk could ring them up.

Three good reasons NEVER to have children.

After her errands were run she returned home. Hamlet sniffed her quite thoroughly just to make sure it was her and then jumped up on the couch, where he knew good and well he shouldn’t be.

"Get off there you slobber monster." She shook her finger and he dropped to the floor. "Good boy."

She settled down on the couch to look over the instructions for her phone. She felt it creeping up and looked desperately for a box of Kleenex, which she realized too late, she didn’t have. The sneeze was so loud and forceful it scared Hamlet.

"Great," Cat grumped to herself as she ran into the bathroom for toilet paper. "Just what I need. We’re going up against the best team in the league and I’m blowing snot all over the place."

*****

The next evening, after practice, Cat began her habitual shooting drills, expecting that Dylan would join her at any time. Her belly fluttered pleasantly, causing her to miss her first seven shots in a row.

"Great," she grumped, tearing after the errant ball yet again. "At this rate, I’ll still be here when practice starts again tomorrow."

Grabbing the ball, she set herself up just behind the foul line. "Focus, Cat. Focus."

She threw a brick as the image of Dylan kissing her on that very line ambushed her the second she released her shot.

"Shit!!!"

Her curse reverberated through the empty, cavernous arena.

"Alright," she said, finally defeated. "I’ve had enough. I feel like shit, I’m playing like shit, and Dylan’s nowhere to be found." She sighed. "This just bites."

Walking dejectedly across the court, she tossed the ball toward the rack, and missed that shot as well. Grumbling under her breath, she made for the locker room, and then hit the shower, washing the sweat of a fruitless day from her body.

Even dragging on her clothes seemed a gargantuan task. The cold she still wouldn’t admit to was taking a lot out of her, and her reserves, always spare to begin with, weren’t kicking in as they should.

If someone had held a gun up to her head, however, she’d readily admit that what made her feel the lousiest was that Dylan and been scarce all day.

"She probably thinks I’m an idiot," she muttered to herself, standing and slinging her gym bag over one shoulder. "God, a brand new rookie coming onto her coach. How cliché can you get?"

Trudging back through the locker room and out into the arena, mired deep in her own thoughts, Cat completely missed the silent figure standing in the shadows of the large exit doors.

"You’re through early," a liquid voice sounded to her left.

Cat gasped, then spun, only then seeing Dylan as she emerged from the shadows. She was looking sleek in what Cat privately termed her "PR clothes"; black slacks and blazer over a silken blue shirt.

"You scared me!"

"Sorry about that. I thought you’d see me when you walked across the court."

Cat’s cheeks pinked. "Sorry. My head was somewhere else, I think." Then she sneezed.

Dylan’s expression became one of concern. "You alright?"

"Allergies," Cat lied.

Dylan smiled a little. "Sounds more like a cold to me."

Cat scowled. "I don’t get colds."

"Mm."

"Well I don’t!" And that was the truth—sort of. She hadn’t had a full out cold since junior high school.

Dylan nodded, relenting for the moment. "Well, if you feel well enough, would you like to get some coffee with me?"

Amazing how a few words, strung together to make a simple sentence, could do more to cure the common cold than all the years of civilized medicine put together. Thoughts of depression and exhaustion slipped away, and Cat grinned. "That’s the best offer I’ve had all day."

******

"I should have known," Cat laughed as she walked through the door Dylan held open for her. "Leave it to The Goddess to find the only organic coffee shop in the entire world. I didn’t even know they made organic coffee."

"See the new things you’re learning?" Dylan teased as she led Cat up to the counter.

Chuckling, Cat stood at the counter, eyeing the selections. In a way, she was glad that the cold she didn’t have would probably blunt her taste buds some, as she wasn’t very sure she wanted to know that organic coffee tasted like. Still, she felt it was a small price to pay for the pleasure of Dylan’s company, and pay it she would.

A young, boyish looking woman smiled at them both from behind the counter. "What’ll you have?"

"A soy Chai Latte," Dylan responded before turning to Cat.

"Um…I’ll try a Vanilla Latte, half caf, extra vanilla."

"Comin’ right up."

As they waited, Cat took the opportunity to look around the shop. It was comfortable and homey, with pastel fabrics and soft music playing from tastefully hidden speakers. It really wasn’t all that much different from the other coffee shops she’d been to, save for the "organic everything", including hemp bars instead of chocolate covered coffee beans.

Within moments, they had received their drinks and moved off to a quiet corner of the shop, easing down into two upholstered chairs that faced in toward a small, round table. After blowing on her coffee to cool it a bit, Cat took a tentative sip, prepared for anything. Her eyes widened as she realized that, dulled taste buds or no, it was just what the doctor ordered.

"This is good!" she exclaimed.

"Told ya," Dylan teased, smirking. "It’s good to broaden your horizons."

Cat gave a mock smile. "I’m all for that, but just remember, no matter how broad my horizons, Coach, you’ll never sway me from my carnivorous ways." She took another sip. "So there."

"Perish the thought."

They sat in comfortable silence for a time, listening to the music and soft hive drone of the customers, and sipping their drinks.

After a long moment, Cat steadied herself with a deep breath, turned slightly, and placed her cup on the table. "Coach?"

"Yes?"

"I…um…wanted to tell you that I was…sorry…for last night. Not for the way I felt…feel…." she hastened to add, "but because of the situation I put you in. I crossed a line and I’m sorry."

Dylan smiled. "It’s alright," she commented softly.

But Cat was on a roll. "No, no it isn’t. I know what my contract says about fraternization. I’ve read it over a few times." She blushed lightly, aware of what information she was giving away. "And I can only imagine what yours says on the subject. It’s probably a lot harsher than mine. I mean, you’re my boss, and that just…."

"It’s alright," Dylan repeated, leaning over and laying a warm hand atop the one Cat had balled into a fist on the table.

Cat blushed again, and looked away. "Coach," she said in a very low, quiet tone, "people get hauled into court for sexual harassment for things like this. It blows up in the media, especially with celebrities. It could ruin your career."

Dylan squeezed Cat’s hand. "I don’t think you’d do anything like that, would you?"

Cat looked back at Dylan, eyes wide. "Never! I would never…"

"Then there’s nothing to worry about."

"But…."

"Cat, I said it was okay, and I mean it. Yes, what happened surprised me a bit, but…." Dylan’s voice trailed off as she gathered her thoughts. "I’d be lying if I said that it in any way made me uncomfortable."

"Really?" Cat asked softly.

"Really," Dylan replied, before releasing Cat’s hand and straightening in her chair. "The fact is…." she paused, then plunged ahead, "… I find you very attractive, Catherine. What happened between us, what we shared, well…it wasn’t at all unwelcome."

For one of the first times in her life, Cat was struck speechless. She looked at Dylan, barely blinking, her eyes shining as if lit from within.

Smiling, Dylan reached out and gently tapped Cat’s chin. "Gonna catch flies."

The sound of Dylan’s voice brought Cat out of her daze, and she flushed, then cleared her throat. "Organic ones," she replied, voice slightly hoarse.

Dylan laughed aloud, shaking her head at Cat’s joke. Then she sobered. "Whatever happens between us, we’ll need to take it slowly."

Cat nodded. "Slow is good. I can work with slow."

Dylan’s smile reappeared. "Good. So can I."

"Coach?"

"Dylan."

"Excuse me?"

"My name. Dylan. I think since we’ve traded bodily fluids, so to speak, you can call me by my name, don’t you?"

Cat’s face lit up again as a broad smile wrinkled her nose. "Okay, Dylan." It sounded weird to her ears, but she thought she could live with it.

"And your question?" Dylan teased.

"Question? Oh! I…um….thanks."

"For?"

"Just…thanks."

"You’re welcome." Dylan looked up at the clock over the counter and frowned. "It’s getting late. We should probably think about heading back. Early practice tomorrow."

"Don’t remind me," Cat groaned. "Let’s just hope I can shoot better than I did tonight."

Dylan shrugged, unconcerned. "You had stuff on your mind."

"And thanks to you, I’ve still got stuff, but it’s a lot more pleasant stuff."

Shaking her head, Dylan rose to her feet, followed by Cat. "Shall we?"

The two walked through the store, and around to the back where their cars waited. The lot was dark and shadowed, but Dylan didn’t get any sense of danger from it. It was empty save for their cars.

Cat let go a mighty yawn, then belatedly covered her mouth. "Oops!"

"Don’t let your coach see that," Dylan replied, smirking.

"Couldn’t have that. I hear she’s a real slave-driver."

"Among other things," Dylan placidly agreed.

"Yeah, she’s a real bear if you get on her bad side, which I try not to do too often."

"You’re making progress."

Cat chuckled. "All around, though, she’s pretty cool. And…." Cat stopped and turned to Dylan. "She’s got the sweetest kiss I’ve ever tasted."

It was meant to be a light-hearted comment, given the conversation between them, but when their eyes met, their smiles dropped away. Cat raised her chin as Dylan lowered her head, and their lips met sweetly, softly. It was a kiss not so much of passion but of promise. A promise of what lay between them and what that could become.

Each allowed themselves to be lost in it for a moment, closing their bodies together in a gentle embrace that was warm, and comforting.

When they finally broke apart, their smiles reappeared, and they gazed at one another, eyes bright even in the darkness of the lot.

"Oh, I can tell. This is going to be nice. Very nice," Cat purred, still tasting Dylan on her lips.

"Oh yeah," was all Dylan had words for.

*******

Cat picked up the phone, took her tea from the counter, and tucked her Kleenex under her arm as she headed to the couch. Once she was there she sat everything on the coffee table, which was littered with aspirin bottles, various nasal decongestants, throat sprays and a big bottle of Nyquil.

She felt awful; it was the worst cold she remembered since childhood. Hamlet yawned and flipped over on his back, his favorite toy lodged in his mouth. "Yes, I called it a cold, alright?" she grumbled. "God, just kill me. Maybe then I can get some sleep."

She stared at the phone. Something, some inner voice, was telling her to call her folks. She didn’t know why it was so insistent. She’d, after all, called them at least twice a week since she’d moved away.

This was different, though.

"Probably the fever," she muttered before lifting the handset from the receiver and dialing the number she knew by heart.

The phone rang three times before her mother finally picked it up.

"Mom, it Cat."

"Sweetheart, you sound awful."

"I feel awful. I have a horrible cold and I needed my Mommy," she whined in the most convincing voice possible, which wasn’t really hard.

Her mother chuckled. "I’m glad to hear it. Do you have a fever?"

"Probably."

"Have you taken your temperature?"

"Mom, my throat is sore, my nose is so plugged I can’t take a drink without feeling like I’m choking, and my head feels like it’s in Daddy’s vise. If I have a fever, it’s the least of my worries."

"Oh honey, I’m sorry."

"So am I."

"Gargle with warm salt water."

"Yuck." She wrinkled her nose at the memory of the much detested childhood cure.

"You know it works."

Cat sighed. "Yes Mom."

"Other than the cold, are you all right sweetheart?"

"Yeah, I just felt miserable and wanted to call. How are you guys doing?"

"We’re fine, dear. Your brother Luke has a new girlfriend who ate supper with us tonight. I’m not exactly sure where she got her manners, but it surely wasn’t within a godfearing family like ours."

Cat allowed her mother to ramble on without comment, soaking in the sound of her voice like a poultice. She felt her eyelids grow heavy, and stiffened quickly when she heard her mother’s strident tone.

"Don’t you agree, dear?"

"More than you could ever know," Cat replied, winging it. "We’re going on a road trip day after tomorrow."

"Flying?"

"Uh-huh."

"Oh, that should be fun. Especially with you as stuffed up as you are."

"Tell me about it."

"Can they put you in the injured list?"

"Mom, I wouldn’t let them bench me when I was hurt, I’m sure not going to do it over a cold. Besides if the team doctor thinks I can’t play, they’ll make me sit out anyhow, but I still have to go."

"I wish I could help, but I’m several hundred miles away and I’m going to see your grandma tomorrow."

"Give her hugs and kisses for me."

"Oh I will. She’s so proud of you. She’s got a big poster of you framed in the living room."

"Oh God. Where did she get that?"

"I asked her the same thing and she showed me. She got on the Internet, Cat, and ordered off the Badgers’ website."

"You’re joking, right? My grandmother knows how to use the web?"

Since her grandmother was pushing ninety, she felt justified in asking the question.

"And apparently she’s very good at it, too."

Cat laughed, which caused her to cough. "Well Mom, I feel like crap, so I’m going to drink my tea, take my Nyquil and go to bed."

"As yes, Nyquil, the take in the kitchen and hope to hell you make it to the bedroom medicine."

"To hell with the bedroom. I’m sleeping on the couch."

"Well, take care of yourself and call me when you get home."

"Oh, I will. Give my love to Dad and the boys. I’ll talk to you soon. Love ya Mom."

"Love you too, honey. Feel better soon."

"I’ll try my best. Bye."

"Bye Catherine."

******

Two days later, the Badgers and their coaching staff were waiting at Gate 22-A, ready to board the commercial flight that would take them to Los Angeles. Where most teams flew in private planes chartered by the owner, the Badgers were stuck with commercial transportation given that Johnson scored a good deal with one of the lesser known—and cheap—national carriers.

As a result, the team, and especially Dylan, was mobbed the moment they stepped into the terminal by autograph seeking fans, and not even the close confines of the planes they flew provided them any relief. Security was non-existent on such trips, and Dylan was about at the end of her rope.

This trip was no different, though Mac, the assistant coaches and trainers had formed a phalanx around Dylan, allowing her at least some respite from the crush of fawning humanity.

They all breathed sighs of relief when the gate attendant finally called for boarding of their flight.

Just as she was about to board, Cat’s cellphone rang, and she stepped out of line to answer it. "Hello?"

"Hey, sis." Her brother Luke was on the other end, and just the tone of his voice sent alarm bells ringing.

"Luke? What is it? What’s wrong?"

"It’s Mom. She’s been in an accident."

Cat’s stomach plummeted to the floor. She could feel herself pale and a buzzing hiss filled her ears.

Dylan noticed immediately and beckoned Mac over. Mac took one look at Cat, nodded to Dylan, and took over the job of escorting the rest of the team onto the plane.

"Cat? Are you there?"

"Y-yes. I’m here. How…how is she?"

"I dunno, sis. Dad just called a few minutes ago. He’s on the way to the hospital now. He told me to call you and ask you to wait wherever you are until he can get a hold of you."

"I’m in the airport, just about to board the plane to Los Angeles."

An hand came down on Cat’s shoulder, and she looked up into the concerned eyes of Dylan. The Coach shook her head once in silent communication, and Cat nodded.

"I’ll stay right here, Luke, alright? If Dad calls you first, tell him to call me as soon as he can."

"I will, sis. I gotta go. I don’t want to tie up the phone lines."

"Okay, Luke. I’ll talk to you later."

Ending the call, Cat folded her phone closed and turned to Dylan. "My mom…."

Reading Cat’s face easily, Dylan took her hand and led her away from the crowded and gawping gate.

Cat followed Dylan’s lead, her body on auto-pilot, holding her tears in by sheer strength of will.

Dylan led Cat down the twists and turns of the terminal until she reached a set of unobtrusive steel doors, which she pushed open and stepped through into a relatively small, elegantly furnished, and nearly empty room. Dylan continued walking over to a corner table that sat by the large bank of polarized windows which provided a panoramic view of the tarmac below. She ushered Cat into one of the chairs, then squatted down by the younger woman’s side, not touching, but close.

Cat felt the tears begin to fall, and she ducked her head, unable to control them any longer. "She…was in an accident. I don’t know… if she’s gonna… be alright."

"Oh, sweetheart," Dylan whispered, reaching out and gathering Cat into a comforting, secure embrace.

Cat’s hands reached out blindly, crushing the lapels of Dylan’s blazer in a desperate grip as she let the fear for her mother roll over her in tumultuous waves. It was something she hated to do, cry in front of others, but Dylan made her feel safe enough to let out the fear and grief she felt in the only way she could.

Gradually, the force of the wave slackened somewhat and, with a shake of her head, Cat finally pulled away, wiping her reddened, puffy eyes with the heel of her hands. She flushed when she saw the state of Dylan’s crumpled, damp suit.

"I’m sorry. I…."

"’s alright," Dylan drawled, giving Cat a slight smile as she reached up and brushed her thumb against one final tear glistening on the younger woman’s cheek.

Cat’s phone chirped, and she froze, turning wide, unblinking eyes to Dylan. It chirped a second, then a third time, finally breaking her paralysis. Lowering a shaking hand, she picked up the phone, almost dropped it, then secured her grip as she opened it. "H-hello?"

"Hi, Kitten. It’s dad."

"Dad? How—how is---?"

The smile in her father’s voice was obvious even through the poor, crackling connection. "She’s gonna be fine, sweetheart. Just a little bumped and bruised, that’s all."

The relief that swept through Cat was almost as draining as the fear had been. She slumped back against the thick padding of her chair, weak as a newborn.

"Cat? Cat, are you there?"

"Yeah, Dad. Just….thank god…. You’re sure she’s alright?"

"Perfectly sure, honey. Especially after the shot the doctor just gave her. Whatever she might be feeling, it sure isn’t pain."

"Thank god. Alright." Cat sat up, her mind whirling. "I’m at the airport now. I think I can get the next flight…."

"No, it’s alright. You just go on to California with your team."

"But Dad…"

"Cat, your mother made me promise that I wouldn’t let you come home."

"Wouldn’t let me? Dad, I’m an adult here, in case you and mom forgot."

"Oh, honey, I know that but, well…." He paused as he cleared his throat. "Your mother, despite what she tells you, is very proud of you. She’s invited her friends over to watch you tomorrow so she can brag to them all about what a success her beloved daughter is."

Cat felt her jaw unhinge as she listened to her father’s completely unexpected confession-by-proxy.

"She…what??"

"It’s true, sweetheart. Your mother would kill me if she knew I told you, but it’s true."

"Kill you? Isn’t she there now?"

Her father chuckled. "Yup, all but passed out on the stretcher with a goofy grin on her face."

Cat all but choked, holding the phone away from her ear as her mother’s fuzzy voice erupted over the tinny speaker, singing, of all things, "Cheeseburger in Paradise."

"Dad?" Cat croaked, but her father was laughing too hard to answer. "Dad??"

When her father’s voice came back on the line, it was wheezy with spent laughter. "S—sorry sweetheart. I just…never expected that from your mother."

"I didn’t even know she could sing!" Cat winced as a particularly sour note rang through the phone. "If you can call that singing."

"Just thank God you can hang up whenever you want. I have a feeling I’ll be enduring this little concert for a while yet."

"Are you sure there’s nothing she needs?"

"Nothing but a little rest and a lot of TLC, both of which I can give her. Now you just go on ahead and catch the next flight to sunny California, alright? Call us when you get there and I’ll fill you in on the latest."

Cat sighed, then nodded. "Okay, Dad. Tell mom I love her."

"As soon as she stops singing, I will, sweetheart. Fly safe. I love you."

"I love you too, Dad. Bye."

"Bye, honey."

Folding the phone and slipping it into her carryall, Cat smiled at the warm hand on her wrist.

"Everything okay?" Dylan asked.

"Aside from my mother arranging an impromptu jam session in the middle of the ER, yeah, everything’s fine. She just got a little banged up."

"That’s good to hear."

A bit embarrassed, Cat rubbed at the back of her neck. "I…um…guess we missed the flight out, huh?"

Dylan grinned. "Never fear. I’ve made some alternate arrangements. Anytime you’re ready, we can head out."

"I guess I’m ready now."

Standing with a fluid grace so much a part of her, Dylan reached down and helped Cat up from the comfortable couch. She hugged the smaller woman quickly, bending to whisper in her ear. "I’m glad your mom’s alright."

"So am I," Cat replied. "And thanks. For caring."

Dylan gave her a rakish grin. "Not a problem at all."

*******

Dylan escorted Cat through the main terminal and into a smaller, less crowded part of the sprawling complex. After speaking quietly to a tall, uniformed man standing beside a stout door, they were ushered outside and onto the tarmac where a small jet, painted a garish purple and black and sporting Horace Johnson’s company name, waited, its engines growling softly.

Cat turned wide eyes to Dylan, who smirked down at her as she ascended the short flight of steps that led her up to the open hatchway. That smirk turned into a carefully neutral mask as Dylan stepped into the dimly lighted plane, giving a short nod to Johnson and his "secretary"—she of the platinum blonde hair and surgically enhanced assets. "Horace."

"Took you long enough," the team owner grumbled, only briefly tearing his rheumy eyes away from his assistant’s cleavage to shoot his head coach an irritated scowl.

"It couldn’t be helped," Dylan replied, stepping forward in order to give Cat enough room to enter behind her.

"Mr. Johnson," Cat said, panting slightly as she entered the plane, "thank you. I appreciate you offering this. My mother--"

Johnson grunted dismissively, not even bothering to look at Cat as he turned his attention back to the woman at his side.

Dylan shot him a look that would have gotten her summarily fired had he seen it and, grasping Cat’s hand in hers, led the way down the narrow aisle until they came to two empty seats across from the team physician who was sprawled out comfortably across her own row, grinning up at them. "Flying with the big dogs, I see."

"He’s too much of a pig to be a dog," Dylan grumbled, stepping aside and gesturing for Cat to grab the window seat, then settling down beside her. "Who’s the new trophy?"

"Eh," Norton replied, shrugging, "somebody he met at some good ol’ boy beer swill somewhere, I’m sure." The doctor laughed. "You sure can hear the wind whistling between those ears."

"Isn’t Mr. Johnson married?" Cat asked, adjusting herself in her seat and buckling the belt securely around her waist.

Dylan and Norton laughed.

"Horace wouldn’t know the word ‘fidelity’ if it came and bit him in the ass," the doctor snorted, clasping her own belt. "I think he’s a majority stockholder in the Bimbo-of-the-Month Club."

"And he has a problem with me being gay?" Cat asked, offended.

Norton laughed again, but her chuckle was rueful. "Par for the course for idiots like him, Cat. Par for the course."

Cat sighed, shaking her head. "That bites."

"That it does, my friend."

Plane seats were never intended for someone as tall as Dylan, and with her knees scrunched practically up to her chin and nowhere for her broad shoulders to comfortably rest, she closed her seatbelt and willed the flight a quick one as possible.

Feeling Cat stiffen, Dylan turned her head to the side, smiling wryly. "Try not to let him get to you too much, Cat. He’s not worth it."

Cat returned the smile. "It’s not that. Not really."

Dylan frowned, noticing her companion’s sudden pallor. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Cat replied, shifting a little. "I’m fine. It’s just…."

"The flight?"

"I don’t mind flying. I kinda like it, actually. But this plane. It’s just so…so…."

"Cramped?"

Cat blushed as she turned her head fully to look at Dylan, noticing for the first time how her coach’s body was crammed into the tiny seat. "Um…yeah."

The feel of Dylan’s hand, large enough to palm a basketball with ease, completely engulfing her own served to chase the fears and tumult of the day back into the dark recesses of her mind. A wave of lethargy swept over her, and as the plane’s engines powered up for its taxi down the runway, she felt sleep claim her, her lolling head resting against Dylan’s shoulder.

A soft chuckle brought Dylan’s sharp gaze over to the snickering Kelly Norton, who gave her a cheesy grin and a waggling eyebrow before she turned away, blatantly ignoring the look of death shot her way.

Sighing, Dylan rested her head back against the seatback and stared straight ahead as the small jet gathered speed and took off into the vast evening sky.

*******

A dream, already fading, woke Cat from her sleep, gasping. Still tired eyes darted toward the window, where she was treated to a violent display of lightening sparking through the roiling clouds enveloping their tiny plane.

She gave a louder gasp when the plane seemed to plummet a heart-stopping length before finally finding stable air beneath it again and leveling out. Her knuckles white from the grip on the arms of her seat, Cat looked to her left. Both Dylan and the doctor were gone, leaving Cat alone in this part of the plane.

She uttered a breathless cry as a brilliant bolt of lightning slashed almost against the window and the plane, once again, plummeted.

Hearing the cry, Dylan quickly ducked back into the passenger area and strode over to Cat, holding the seatbacks in order to keep herself from stumbling about as the plane rocked wildly back and forth. "What is it, Cat? What’s wrong?"

"What’s…." Cat swallowed back the churning in her stomach. "…going on?"

Dylan shook her head. "We’ve got a problem. We’re almost over Denver and we’re gonna have to make an emergency landing."

"Because of the storm?"

"No. Norton thinks Horace is having a heart attack."

"Oh god. Is there anything I can do?" Cat sat up and struggled with the belt at her lap.

Dylan held up a hand. "No, keep it on. We’re going to land soon." The plane dipped again, then tilted almost on its side, causing Dylan to nearly rip the seatback from its moorings as she kept herself from being thrown down the aisle. "I hope."

"Dylan?"

Dylan looked down into a pair of brilliant green eyes; eyes which held a strong determination, and the faintest spark of fear. The coach could relate. She wasn’t ready to belt out "Ode to Joy" herself.

They both jumped, startled, as a lightning strike hit the plane, causing it to duck and shutter in a series of gut-wrenching dips and rises, as if it had suddenly landed in an amusement park and was substituting for the roller coaster. The lights dimmed, then shut down altogether, before coming back on in an eerie, flickering glow.

After a moment of relative calm, the plane wheeled crazily, uprooting Dylan and throwing her across Cat’s lap. She smacked her head hard against the bulkhead and pulled against the G forces pinning her down, seeing stars. Her guts sank, and stayed there.

"Dylan?"

Cat’s voice was more than frightened now. It contained a note of terror which mirrored the one thundering Dylan’s heart.

Reaching up as she forced her body back against the seats at her back, Dylan grabbed Cat behind the neck and forced the younger woman’s head between her own knees. "Stay down!" she shouted above the groaning and shrieking of tortured metal as the plane continued to drop. With the last of her energy, she forced herself to roll on top of Cat’s huddled, shaking form, cradling her as tightly and as closely as it was possible to get.

"I’m sorry," she whispered.

Then all hell broke loose.

*******

Dylan awoke, groaning softly at the abysmal pounding in her head. The groan turned into a sharp gasp of pain as she tried to wrench her badly jammed leg from beneath the decimated row of seats at her back. It was her bad leg, the one that had ended her playing days, and even during the worst of times, it had never hurt as badly as it was hurting now.

Taking several deep breaths to push herself past the pain, she wiggled her body as much as she was able, and finally freed her leg. The pain of blood suddenly returning to the limb almost caused her to pass out, but she hung on to consciousness grimly, instinctively knowing she was in more danger than a mere injured leg was telling her.

Realizing she hadn’t opened her eyes yet, she did so, and discovered that whatever had rattled her brains had also either struck her blind, or she was in pitch blackness. She bet—and prayed—on the latter.

Blinking several times, she pulled her left arm out from where it had been trapped beneath her body and felt around gingerly, hoping for a clue to her current situation. The very tips of her fingers brushed against several soft, silky strands, bringing with it the unmistakable scent of Cat’s shampoo. Her fingers traveled further until they encountered a warm, sticky residue that could only be one thing.

Blood.

Ignoring the sharp, piercing pain in her knee joint, Dylan scrambled back and into the aisle, then came forward slowly, feeling her way. A strong hand clamped on Cat’s unresponsive shoulder, and she gently pulled the woman upwards until she was sitting more or less upright. "Cat?" she whispered, shaking the shoulder in her hand. "Cat? Answer me, sweetheart. Please answer me."

Still no response.

With less than steady fingers, Dylan felt blindly along Cat’s shoulder and up her neck until she pressed lightly against the pulsepoint. Her body sagged in relief as she felt the slow, strong and steady bounding of Cat’s heart.

"Ok," Dylan said to herself. "This is good. This is very good." She took a deep breath, considering her options. "Alright, Cat, I’m gonna leave you here, but just for a second, alright? I need to find out what happened, and how bad off we are. I’ll be right back, I promise."

There was no response, though she really didn’t expect one.

Feeling carefully with her feet, Dylan set them down upon the litter-strewn ground and gingerly pushed herself up to a standing position. A wave of dizziness assailed her, followed immediately by a blinding bolt of pain that traveled from her knee joint straight up to her head. "Shit!" she gasped out, reaching down and grabbing her knee tightly as she tried to ride out the pain. "Damn it!"

After what seemed like hours, the pain finally dulled down to a roar of blood in her ears, and she slowly limped along the aisle in the direction of what she hoped was the front of the plane, taking great care not to trip over the myriad of objects strewn across the floor.

Hearing a soft moan, she headed for it. Her outstretched hand was clasped by another, warm and somehow comforting.

"Dylan?"

"Kelly? That you?"

A sigh of relief. "Yeah. You okay?"

"Pretty much," Dylan replied. "How about you?"

"Aside from a broken arm, I think I’ll live." When Dylan immediately released her hand, the doctor laughed softly. "No, it’s the other one. Pretty useless right now."

"How about the others?"

"Johnson’s still alive. I can hear his breathing. Dunno about his ‘companion’ or the pilot, though. Have any idea where we are?"

"Not a clue."

"Is Cat alright?"

"Yeah, I think so. I felt some blood. I think she hit her head. She’s still unconscious."

"Alright. I’ll see what I can do to help, but first, we need to get some light on the subject. Don’t suppose a plane like this has flashlights around anywhere, do you?"

"I think I remember seeing some when I walked in. Gimme a second and I’ll see what I can find."

Dylan continued to limp forward until she came to the partition that separated the cabin proper from the cockpit. Bending at the waist, she felt around along the floor and wall, finally brushing her fingers over several large, battery-powered flashlights clamped to the partition. Grabbing one, she tugged it free and pressed a button on its base.

"Jesus Christ," she whispered, looking at the destruction inside the small jet. The force of the crash and torn seats from their moorings and overturned tables. Several of the windows had shattered inward, littering the floor with shards of thick, tempered glass. Wires hung down from the ceiling, and the steady drip of water could be easily heard from above.

A low whistle came from Kelly. "How in the hell we managed to live through all this, I’ll never know."

Dylan shone the light to the right, were Johnson was laying on his back, his secretary collapsed across his chest and pelvis, and pinned down by part of the roof which was laying across her back. Johnson’s face was a sickly gray and his breath came in whistling, groaning rasps.

"He doesn’t look so good."

"I’m surprised he’s made it this long," Norton remarked, slipping as close to the dying man as she was able.

"Hang on, let me see if I can move this crap."

Norton nodded and knelt down by the couch, cradling her injured arm to her chest as Dylan carefully set the flashlight down and grasped the plastic panel.

*******

Cat’s head was pounding. Now however, she wasn’t sure if it was the cold or the fact that the plane had just fallen out of the sky. She blinked, trying to get her bearings, which wasn’t easy. Feeling something on the side of her face she reached up to find blood covering her fingers when she brought them away from her face.

"Don’t panic Cat." These words she said aloud just to make sure her mouth and ears were still functioning. "Don’t panic. You bumped your head, but you’re still alive, so let’s just concentrate on that."

She realized she could see by the dim light filtering in somewhere ahead of her. Reaching down into her lap, she struggled with the seatbelt. It wouldn’t budge no matter how hard she pushed down on the release button. "Goddamnmotherpussbucket!" She slammed back against the seat she was trapped in, fighting back the urge to scream out her frustrations. Her eyes darted wildly around the dim interior, trying desperately to find Dylan.

Her soft exclamation was heard, and the dim light sharpened and started to bob. A moment later, Dylan limped into view, followed close behind by the team physician.

"Dylan! Thank god you’re okay!" She narrowed her eyes. "You’re limping."

"Yeah, I know." The flashlight shone into her eyes briefly before flicking away. "You took a pretty nasty knock to the head. How are you feeling?"

"Like somebody scrambled up my brains for breakfast. I think I’ll be okay, though, as soon as this damn chair lets me go." She tried the release button again, then sagged back in frustration as it still refused to give. She turned plaintive eyes to the two women standing in the aisle. "Help?"

"I’ll give it my best shot," Norton quipped, smiling as she held up her now splinted left arm. "Thank god I’m right-handed. And no ‘physician heal thyself’ jokes, if you please. It’s bad enough that an orthopod has a broken bone. The Wednesday golf sessions will never be the same."

Despite the circumstances, Cat couldn’t help but laugh, which was, doubtless, what the physician had intended.

Norton eased herself in between the crushed and cramped seats, and a quick snip of her bandage scissors was enough to release Cat from her bondage. "Alright now. Let me get a look at that gash on your head. God above, Cat, you’re not having the greatest of years, are ya."

"No kidding."

Dylan carefully set the flashlight down on one of the few level places on the destroyed plane. Then she switched on the second one, shining the light back the way she’d come. "Take care of Cat," she told the doc, "I’m going to check on the pilot and see if I can figure out were in the hell we are."

As she turned, Dylan bit her lip to keep from yelping as the pain shot through her leg once more. Moving slowly and carefully, she managed to make her way to the cockpit. Pulling the door open she, took a deep breath when she saw the pilot and what was left of the cockpit. He’d brought them down hard, but they were alive. He’d given his life to guarantee that.

The nose of the plane had impacted with a huge tree which had all but obliterated the cockpit and the man who manned the helm. The stench of blood and death was heavy in the confined space, and Dylan felt her guts roil. Knowing it was useless, but needing to try anyway, Dylan slipped her fingers along what remained of the man’s neck, searching in vain for a pulse.

Only the cold stillness of death greeted her flesh, and she removed her hand quickly, wiping the thick, clotting blood on her slacks.

She set her now clean hand on his ruined shoulder, squeezing it. "I’m sorry, my friend. Thank you. For saving our lives. You died doing what you loved, and I know that’s enough. Godspeed."

She took a final look around the destroyed cockpit. There was nothing there that would be of any use to them. Rummaging around she managed to find what appeared to be a cell phone of some sort, but before she could inspect it, she heard Cat call for her.

Going back to the cabin, she paused when another sharp pain shot through her knee. "What?"

"Do you smell smoke?"

Dylan lifted her nose and sniffed. "Shit. We need to get out of here."

"How? Dylan, it’s storming, we have no idea where we are. Horace is…" Cat stopped, feeling as if she was going to panic and knowing now was not the time.

The tall woman moved to the blonde and cupped her chin in the palm of her hand. "We’re going to be all right. I promise."

Cat only nodded. She looked up when she felt Dylan run her fingers over a hastily applied band-aid. "I’m okay, just a little dizzy. But it’s passing," she said, hastening to reassure Dylan.

"Can you help me?" Dylan asked after a moment of careful scrutiny.

"Sure. What should we do first?"

"First we need to see if we can force the door open and try to find shelter away from the plane. I’m not sure it’s safe here."

Cat stood up slowly, feeling truly like she wanted to just die and get it over with. "First mom, now this."

"Easy, sweetheart," she said absently, turning away before noticing Cat’s shocked smile at the endearment. "We’re going to be okay." She handed her the device she had found in the cockpit. "Check this out and see if it’ll do us any good. I’m gonna check on Horace."

"’Kay." Cat watched Dylan limp away, then she opened the phone.

Dylan looked down at Norton who was tending to Horace, trying to keep him warm and comfortable. Even as a doctor, there was little she could do, and no equipment to do it with.

"The pilot is dead." Dylan said softly.

"Damn," the doctor sighed. "I’m not sure Horace is going to make it either."

"Now for more bad news," Dylan glanced at the blonde ‘assistant’ who had come through it with nary a scratch, and who was currently curled up against a wall, trying and failing not to cry. "I’m afraid the plane isn’t safe. Cat and I can smell a faint hint of smoke."

"I can smell it too, although that could just be residual from the crash."

"True, but I’d rather not risk it. Cat and I are going to try and get us out of here. Will you be all right until we get back?"

"Do I really have a choice?"

"Guess not." Dylan sighed. "We’ll be back as soon as we can."

Returning to the front part of the cabin, Dylan watched as Cat worked with the phone. "Please tell me you have good news."

"Sort of. It’s a Satphone. Bad news the storm is interfering with the signal."

"Terrific."

"It’s not all black. The phone has a GPS, and I think I have it set to broadcast an SOS."

"How did you figure that out?" Dylan was clearly impressed.

"My oldest brother is an absolute technology geek. He knows all about this stuff and there were always magazines lying around the house. Now I’m not sure the signal is getting out either, but once the storm clears we should be able to use the phone and figure out where we are."

"That’s the best news I’ve had all night." She winced and rubbed her knee.

"Sit down." Cat ordered and moved to help her. "How bad is it?"

"It’s okay, just a little twisted."

"No bullshit, Dylan. I’m not in the mood."

The coach nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I hurt it."

"Shit." Cat began to look around the cabin for something she could use to stabilize the knee.

"Look in my bag," Norton half yelled. "I’ve got a few splints in there. It’s the orange one."

Cat dug in the requisite bag and came out with a long knee brace that had Velcro straps to hold it together. "This one?"

"Yeah, that’ll work. Strap it on tight or it’ll just make things work."

Going back to Dylan she knelt down and wrapped the knee, placing the bandage over the tan pants that seemed to have a bit of blood splatter on them. "Are you hurt some place else you’re not telling me about?"

"No. I think that’s your blood."

"Sorry."

"Don’t worry about it." She jumped a bit when Cat tightened the splint.

"Too tight?"

"No it’s just right, thanks."

Cat sat back on the floor and wiped her eyes. It was all she could do to keep from crying. "Damn." She looked up, "Are you sure we’re going to be okay?"

"I promised didn’t I?"

"Yeah."

Dylan grasped Cat’s hand and smiled. "C’mon," she said, hauling herself back to her feet. "Let’s get the hell outta here."

*******

After about ten minutes of pushing and banging on the crumpled cabin door, they finally pushed it open. The night air was cold and wet, the rain was steady but not hard. The sky was dark and the clouds kept most of the natural light of the moon from shining through.

Cat pushed the steps over the side, and they hung in a jumbled mess halfway to the ground. Luckilly, the plane had taken a belly landing and the ground wasn’t that far below. Cat jumped down easily. Dylan bit back a groan of pain as her injured leg briefly bore her whole body’s weight.

Both turned as one to see the wreckage the crash had wrought.

The nose had been all but ripped off, as were both wings. The tail section was crushed and torn away from the plane but not ripped completely off.

"We’re screwed," Cat said, then sneezed, a gentle reminder she was still sick as hell.

Dylan silently shook her head. "Okay, first things first. I don’t know where we are, but Horace isn’t gonna make it if we just sit here on our asses waiting for a rescue that we don’t even know is coming. We need to get moving."

As Dylan hobbled away, Cat caught up to her and stopped her with a hand to her arm. "Dylan, wait."

The coach stopped and turned to Cat, eyebrow raised. "Yes?"

"I think it might be better if we made some sort of shelter here and waited. No wait, hear me out," she continued quickly as Dylan looked prepared to argue. "You’re right when you say that we don’t know where we are. For all we know, we could take three steps in any direction and blunder off the side of a mountain somewhere. It’s dark, it’s raining, and we’re lost."

"And Horace Johnson is dying," Dylan replied, voice tight. "I might not like the bastard, but I can’t sit by and do nothing while it happens."

"But the satt phone…."

"You said yourself that you didn’t know if the signal would penetrate the storm. I can’t risk it, Cat. Much as I’d rather just sit here and wait, there’s no way of knowing when, or even if, we’d be rescued. We need to move." Her lips turned up in a wry smile. "Hell, this is America. I remember reading somewhere that there isn’t a place in this whole country that doesn’t have a maintained road within several miles."

"But you’re hurt…."

"So are you. And so is Kelly. But none of us is hurt as badly as he is." Dylan’s eyes softened and she grabbed Cat’s hand in her own, squeezing it gently. "I have to try, Cat. I can’t just sit around waiting. Not when someone’s life is on the line. I just can’t."

After a long moment, Cat sighed and nodded. "Do you promise to take it easy, and stop if it gets to be too much for any one of us?"

"I promise."

Smiling, Cat stood up on tiptoe and kissed a stunned Dylan softly on the lips. "I believe you. Now let’s go take care of business."

With that, Cat trotted off, back toward the plane, leaving a wide-eyed Dylan behind.

*******

Dylan, Cat, and Kelly, despite their various injuries, made quick work of salvaging the wreckage of anything that would be of use, and strapping Johnson to a backboard stretcher that had come through the crash miraculously unharmed. Of the secretary, who Cat discovered had the totally fitting name of Tawny, there was little effort to help, as her constant whining had forced the doc to dope her up with some potent antianxiety medication that had her huddled off to one side, humming to herself and grinning idiotically at nothing.

"Well, we won’t starve," Dylan commented as she tossed the gear out the door.

"Got a Big Mac in your pocket?" Cat teased as she picked up a couple cushions they decided would make good pillows.

"No, but I imagine by the time we get out of here, I’ll even be willing to eat one of those."

"Funny, I was thinking if we were gonna be here too long you could make soup from roots or something."

"Well, after a few days of that I might even be convinced to eat pizza."

"We could do vegetarian on half."

"You’re on and I’m buying."

"It’s a date." Cat grinned, thinking that this was the most absurd way she had ever been asked out. "It is a date isn’t it?"

"You bet it is."

Dylan handed the solar blanket to the doctor to give to Horace to keep him warm. "He needs this worse than we do." She didn’t know how, but the bigoted old bastard was still alive, though deeply unconscious and gray as ashes. "You ready?"

"Guess so."

"Let’s go."

*******

With Norton, powerful flashlight in hand, taking point and Dylan and Cat carrying Johnson’s stretcher between them, the small group began to make its way away from the plane’s wreckage and, hopefully, toward some indication of civilization.

The rain had slackened some, but the night was still dark and moonless. The scent of evergreen, damp and sharp, filled their otherwise dulled senses. They followed a game trail that sloped steadily downward at a gentle grade.

Dylan’s knee felt like it had been filled with broken glass, shooting bright spikes of pain through her body with every limping step she took. Every time she was almost ready to call a halt, however, she would look down at Johnson’s gray and pain wracked face and push on, figuring that while she could worry about her knee later, Johnson simply didn’t have that kind of time.

They continued in this vein for almost an hour before Kelly Norton held them up with an upraised hand.

"What is it?" Cat asked. "Why are we stopping?"

"I’m not sure," the doc replied, voice slightly muffled. "I can’t see much, but there’s something about this that I don’t like."

As if by providence, the moon chose that moment to sail out from behind the rapidly dwindling clouds. By the moon’s eerie, ghostly light, they were all able to see that Norton’s instincts had undoubtedly saved their lives.

"Holy Jesus," Cat breathed, looking down an almost sheer cliff face that dropped off below them not more than five steps away. "I guess I wasn’t kidding when I said I was afraid we’d wander off a mountain, was I."

Dylan slowly lowered her end of the stretcher, prompting Cat to do the same. Once Johnson was safely on the ground, Dylan came around his prone body and walked almost to the edge of the cliff. "Long drop," she remarked softly.

"You’re not kidding," Norton replied eyeing the almost bottomless well yawing before them.

"What do we do now?" Cat asked.

A low scud of clouds crossed the moon, painting the world black again.

"I think it’s best if we stop for the night," Dylan said, her voice discouraged. "I know it won’t help Horace any, but we can’t risk walking any more in the dark. It’s just too dangerous, now that we know what we’re up against. We can start out again at dawn."

Cat nodded and touched Dylan lightly on the back, knowing how much it had cost her coach to make that decision.

"I’ll have to agree," Norton said, turning away from the chasm. "Let’s move back to that little clearing we passed through and pray that no one walks in their sleep."

*******

While Kelly Norton took care of settling Johnson and tending to his needs as best she could, Dylan and Cat took care of gathering as much fallen wood as they could. Many of the branches had been sheltered from the worst of the storm by the trees towering above them, and they both soon returned with armfuls of kindling with which to start a fire. Norton leant them her Zippo and soon a warm fire was blazing in a good sized clearing in the woods.

"With any luck," Dylan remarked, "any rescue passing overhead will see this and know where we are."

"I hope so," Cat replied rubbing her arms with her hands as her teeth chattered. "God, I’m freezing!" Then she doubled over with a coughing fit that left her cheeks an alarming shade of plum. "S-sorry b-bout that," she said when she could finally straighten.

Dylan moved to her smaller friend, expression deeply concerned, and opened her arms. "Come here."

Cat moved to her and they settled down together next to a downed tree and near fire. They booth looked at Norton, who gave them a grim thumbs up.

"He’ll freak if he come to and sees this," Cat remarked between the shivers, as Dylan drew a coat over them.

"Ask me if I give a flying fuck at the moment." Dylan felt her knee really starting to stiffen and visions of more surgery flashed through her mind. "Are you getting warmer?"

"Yes, thank you. You’re a great hot water bottle."

"Well, sharing body heat is about the only way we’re going to ward off hypothermia, so feel free to cuddle all you like."

"You know you didn’t have to order a plane crash to get me to put my arms around you."

Dylan chuckled and kissed the top of Cat’s head. "Well, you know me, when I do something I do it big."

As the night wore on, Cat finally fell into a restless slumber. Dylan remained about half awake and could hear Cat’s cold coming back with a vengeance as she began to cough and wheeze. She held her tighter, relishing the feel of the smaller woman in her arms, and rested a damp cheek against Cat’s soft hair.

Please God, get us out of here.

*******

Dawn was still many hours away when Dylan was roused from a light, very fitful sleep by a sound out of place with those around her.

As she blinked the sleep from her eyes, she cocked her head, willing the sound to return so that she could identify it.

The rain had stopped, allowing the normal night sounds of the thick forest to take over once again. A soft moan came from slightly below her, and Dylan looked down to see Cat huddled tightly against her, face streaked and shiny with sweat. She was mumbling incoherently within the grip of some fevered dream, and her body was emitting a great heat.

"Shit," Dylan swore softly through gritted teeth as she shifted slightly, trying to make a more comfortable nest for the uneasy Cat.

"Dylan," Norton called, sharply. "Help me. He’s coding."

"Wha--?" Carefully, but quickly, easing herself away from Cat, Dylan half ran, half stumbled her way around the fire to where Johnson lay, ignoring the agony in her knee.

"You need to help me. We have to start CPR but with this broken arm, I can’t do compressions. If you can do them, I’ll work on mouth-to-mouth, okay?"

"What about her?" Dylan asked, pointing to the platinum blonde head that peeked out from beneath the solar blanket as she awkwardly knelt down beside Johnson.

"Dead to the world. C’mon, Dylan, I need your help."

"Alright," Dylan replied shortly, getting into position and placing the heel of her hand on the lower third of his sternum as Norton knelt at his head and tilted his head back, opening his airway. "Ready?"

Nodding, Norton bent her head and delivered two quick breaths. Coming up, she nodded to Dylan, who began compressions, counting each one out in a slow, liquid rhythm. After two rounds of compressions and rescue breathing, Norton called a halt and felt for a pulse.

There wasn’t one.

"Shit. Ok, start again."

Several more rounds continued in the same vein. With the same result.

They were getting ready to resume when Dylan stiffened and cocked her head, listening.

"What is it?"

"Helicopter."

"You’re kidding, right?"

"No, listen."

As Dylan continued compressions, Norton looked up through the leafy canopy, then grinned when she saw a large searchlight playing back and forth in slow arcs over the ground. "They found us!"

"Not yet they haven’t."

Taking a deep breath, Dylan briefly rested all of her weight on her injured knee and lashed out behind her with her good leg, impacting the stuporous body of the blond bimbo behind her.

Said bimbo rolled over from the force of the blow, and remained where she lay, completely out for the count.

"You sure she isn’t the one we should be doing this to?" Dylan asked, eyebrow raised as her hands continued to press down on Johnson’s sternum.

"Hey, that was some powerful shit I gave her."

"You sound like a streetcorner drug dealer." Dylan gratefully took a rest as Norton breathed for Johnson. Looking behind her, she noticed Cat’s huddled form near the fire. She looked up, still tracking the circling helicopter. Shit. I don’t wanna do this. She needs her rest. Damn.

"Cat!!"

Hodge fought her way up through layers of fevered images, horrifying and terrifically sharp in their intensity.

"Cat!!"

It was as if she was swimming, and the nebulous voice calling out to her was some bizarre lifeline. She headed toward it as the dizzying dream images conspired to lay false traps for her consciousness.

"Cat! Wake up!!"

Her eyes snapped open and she quickly, without realizing it, rolled to her feet, balanced on the balls like a fighter ready for attack.

Then the nausea hit, sinking its claws into her belly and twisting.

Dylan was saying something to her—screaming it, really—but she couldn’t understand the words over the sick thumping in her head and the queasy accompaniment of her guts. To take her mind off of both, she squinted, trying to determine, through a fuzzy and vapor locked mind, exactly why Dylan was kneeling by Horace Johnson and why she was pressing his chest like that.

The answer hit her like a ton of rubble, and she stagger-stumbled her way over to Dylan’s side, bighting back the urge to collapse into a shivering ball only with the greatest of wills.

"Oh my god! Is he…"

"Never mind that," Dylan bit off, resuming her rhythmic compressions. "There’s a helicopter out there looking for us. Grab the spare flashlight and try to flag them down, okay?"

"Um…yeah. I can do that."

"Still nothing," Norton said, feeling for a pulse as Dylan paused.

"Cat?"

"Yes?"

"Hurry."

The urgency in Dylan’s voice cut through the fever-fog, and Cat jumped to, bending quickly to scoop up the large flashlight and running out into the forest. When she tipped the light upward, she realized that the canopy above was much too thick to allow the beam to penetrate, so she continued to run forward, half-remembering another large clearing they’d passed through earlier that night. Or this morning.

Or whenever it was.

Finally, the overhead canopy broke and she strode out into the large, roughly circular clearing, and swung her flashlight upwards in large, beckoning arcs. "Hey!!" she shouted, knowing they couldn’t hear her, but some part of her needing to try. "Hey! We’re here!! Hey!!!"

The shouting touched off another coughing spell, this one so silent that it doubled her over and almost caused her to lose her grip on the flashlight. As she gasped for breath, she feebly waved the light, praying desperately that they would see her and respond.

A moment later, the helicopter’s huge searchlight blinked on, then off, then on again, and a thin rope lolled out of the open door, followed quickly by a man clad in an orange jumpsuit who shimmied down the rope and to the ground.

"Oh," Cat gasped, "thank you god. Thank you."

When she was finally able to straighten, she saw the man hit the ground and come running toward her, bulky duffel in his hand. "Miss? Are you alright?"

"Yes…my friends…back there…hurry!"

******

Dylan didn’t bother disguising her sigh of relief as the rescue worker displaced her position at Johnson’s side and pulled out the automatic defibrillator he had in his duffel. Within a matter of a minute, he had the electrodes taped to the man’s still chest. A second later, he read off the rhythm, and a message which didn’t tell him anything he didn’t know already. A soft hum as the machine powered up, and he looked around, making sure no one was touching the patient.

"Stand clear," ordered the defibrillator in a robotic voice. A second later, Johnson’s body jumped as the electrodes fired.

"Asystole. Check for pulse," the machine then commented, letting them know the first try had failed. "Check for pulse."

"Nothing," the rescue worker replied, confirming the mechanical diagnosis. "Let’s try again."

Another soft hum, another charge, and Johnson’s lifeless body jerked again.

"Houston," the man said softly, "we have liftoff."

The small group, hurting and tired and bedraggled as it was, brightened considerably.

"He’s not out of the woods yet," the rescue worker cautioned, "but…you guys probably just saved his life."

With that, he looked up and around, and his eyes widened, and he jumped to his feet quickly. "Aren’t you…?"

Dylan nodded.

"And you’re…."

Cat nodded, a little surprised that she’d been recognized.

The man’s face split into an enormous grin. "Wow. My wife’s gonna be so jealous when I tell her I met Dylan…." His smile faded as a blush stole up his cheeks and ears. "Oh my god…I met Dylan Lambert!! I can’t believe it!!"

The sound of a throat being softly cleared broke the young man from his haze, and he looked back down at the team physician, who was still crouched at Johnson’s head.

His response was cut short by the helicopter’s pilot jogging into the clearing, bulging equipment bag slung over one broad shoulder. He nodded at them all, then knelt down by Johnson, assessing the downed man and talking quietly to his partner. Then he stood, looking the group over carefully.

"Ya’ll aren’t dressed for camping. How’d you get all the way up here?"

"Plane crashed," Dylan succinctly stated.

"Isn’t that why you’re here?" Cat asked, puzzled.

The pilot shook his head. "No. We were following the SOS signal. We get ‘em all the time from campers who get lost or stuck up here. Not a friendly place to be, if you get my meaning."

"It’s not as if we had a choice." Norton’s mildly chiding voice filtered up from the ground.

"We didn’t hear of any plane crashes in the vicinity." The pilot was more than a little defensive.

"You’re more than welcome to check out the wreckage yourself, if you want," Dylan offered, eyebrow raised as she leveled a challenging stare at the young, cocky man.

The pilot cleared his throat and broke off the stare, looking around the clearing, uncomfortable. "No, that’s alright. I believe you."

"Lucky us," was Norton’s dry reply.

"Well," he said finally, once again in control, "I’m afraid we weren’t expecting quite so large a group."

""salright," Dylan drawled. "Get Johnson outta here. He needs it the most. Take the doc too, if you can. She can give you his history."

"Horace Johnson? The electronics guy?"

"That’d be him."

"We were on our way to LA for the game," Cat interjected before doubling over with another coughing fit.

"Damn. I didn’t realize…. Was there anyone else in the plane?"

"Just the pilot," Dylan replied. "He didn’t make it."

"Shit. Okay, we can take him and…are you the doctor?"

Norton nodded.

"Okay, we can take you two over to Rocky Mountain Regional and then head back over here." He looked up at Dylan, a bit disconcerted to find a woman towering over him. "Will…will you be alright here for a little longer?"

Dylan looked to Cat, who nodded, though she looked absolutely miserable.

"Got any blankets?" Dylan asked.

The pilot reached into his duffel. "Sure. Here." He handed over two large, warm blankets, which Dylan and Cat took gratefully, wrapping them around their drenched and shivering bodies.

"What about her?" the younger medic asked, poking the unconscious secretary. "She hurt?"

"Tranked," Dylan replied, a smirk twitching the corner of her mouth. "She’ll be okay with us."

"If you say so," the medic remarked.

"I do."

"Alright then. Let’s get him wrapped up and stowed aboard."

Moments later, the clearing was empty save for the unconscious bimbo and Dylan and Cat. "You doing alright?" Dylan asked, looking down on the bowed head before her.

Cat looked up and attempted a smile.

It wasn’t very successful.

"I’ll live." Her eyes darted down to Dylan’s knee which was visible through a part in the blanket covering the tall, lean form. "How ‘bout you?"

Dylan shrugged. "The same." She allowed a small smile to form, opened the blanket, and spread out her arms. "C’mon, let’s share some body heat."

Cat looked at her askance for a moment, then laughed. "We haven’t even had our first date yet!"

"Think of this as a pre-dating ritual. Snuggle together, keep warm, works for me."

Cat laughed again. "Me too." Stepping forward, she wrapped her blanket around them both from the inside, and Dylan wrapped hers around from the outside. The rather large disparity in their heights placed Cat’s cheek against a warm, soft nest, and she couldn’t resist snuggling in, breathing her first contented sigh of the adventure.

"Oh yeah," she breathed, voice husky as she took in the warmth and scent surrounding her. "This definitely works."

********

"No."

"But, Ms. Lambert…."

"I said ‘no’." Dylan sighed. "Look, just give me whatever papers I need to sign so that I can leave AMA and I’m outta your hair, alright?"

"Ms. Lambert, I wouldn’t recommend…."

"Of course you wouldn’t. That’s why I’m not asking you to. Just give me the papers already. I’ve got a plane to catch."

It had taken some doing, but she had finally convinced Mac, via cellphone, to book them on the earliest flight out to LA. Crash or no crash, she wasn’t about to miss the game.

And that gave her…she checked her watch…exactly one hour and forty five minutes to spring herself from this prison disguised as a hospital and head to the airport.

Drumming her fingers on the stretcher’s cold metal siderail, she glowered at the physician, who ignored her and fiddled with the X-rays hanging on the lighted board.

The door that separated Dylan’s small triage area from the rest whooshed open, and Kelly Norton strode through, sporting a cast from fingers to above her elbow colored a garish purple and black. "No comments from the peanut gallery," she warned as she strode to Dylan’s stretcher. "How’s tricks?"

The orthopaedic surgeon who was trying to treat Dylan looked over at the doctor, eyes wide. "Kelly Norton?"

"That’s m’name."

"Dear God! It’s an honor to meet you, Doctor. Your papers and lectures on the latest techniques in bone grafting were some of the best I’ve ever read on the subject!"

Norton smiled. "I’m glad you found them informative Doctor…." Squinting, she peered at his name badge. "Planton."

"Mike, please," the young surgeon said, reaching out and grasping Norton’s uninjured hand between both of his own. "This is really an honor. I’ve been a fan of your work for years."

"Um, yes…well…." Norton cleared her throat, uncomfortable with the younger man’s blatant fawning. She looked over at Dylan, who gave her a wicked smirk. "How’s the knee?"

Dylan scowled. "Your friend there won’t let me out of here until he does an MRI, and radiology doesn’t open until tomorrow morning. If he can manage to fit me in tomorrow morning. Which is highly in doubt."

Norton turned back to the doctor, eyebrow raised. The young man threw up his hands. "It’s standard medical practice. Her X-ray doesn’t reveal any damage, but with the work that’s been done on that knee already, I don’t feel that it’s medically advisable to take any chances. We need that MRI. There’s no way around it."

"And her clinical exam?"

"Gross swelling and ecchymosis over the joint. No crepitus, and it seems stable enough, but I’m not comfortable at all with taking a chance based on my clinical exam alone. Not what that knee and what it’s already been through."

Norton turned to Dylan. "He’s got a point, my friend."

"I have my own points," Dylan retorted. "Point one: We all have a flight to catch in exactly one and a half hours now. Point two: I don’t intend to miss that flight. Point three: If you don’t give me those papers to sign, I’m gonna get down off this stretcher right now, brace or no brace, and I’m gonna be real pissed off when I do."

"I don’t think we wanna know what point four is," Norton said dryly.

Dylan shot her a look.

Norton sighed. "Alright. Brace her up and release her to my care. I’ll make sure she gets that MRI right after the game tomorrow, if I have to trank her up to do it." Lowering her face, she stared directly into Dylan’s flashing eyes. "And don’t think I won’t do exactly that, my friend. I’ve spent too much time and effort on that knee of yours and I’m not about to sit by and let you ruin it. Got me?"

After a moment, Dylan nodded. "Yeah, I got you."

Norton shot a look at the staring doctor. "Well? Am I talking for my health here? What are you waiting for?"

"This is totally ill-advised, Doctor…."

"Yeah, yeah, I know all about it. Just do what I ask, Doctor Planton. I’ll take all responsibility for the outcome."

"But…."

"Do it."

*******

"Once again, ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to thank you for choosing Amazon Airlines. Local Los Angeles time is 5:30am, local temperature is a balmy eighty three degrees. Please remain seated until the captain has pulled into the gate and turned off the fasten seatbelts sign. Please see the gate agent for any connecting flight information you might need. It was our pleasure to serve you and we hope to see you again on another Amazon Airlines flight real soon."

Dylan turned her head as she felt Cat shift next to her. The young woman’s head was bruised around the cut, which had taken several sutures to close, and she looked tired and miserable. "Hey," the coach said softly.

"Hey," Cat replied, shifting again. "Remind me never to get sick again, will you? It feels like a mule kicked me where they gave me those damn shots."

"Did they make you feel any better?" Dylan asked, giving into her impulse to brush a stray lock of hair away from Cat’s sweaty cheek.

Sighing softly, Cat leaned into the gentle touch, her eyelids fluttering closed. "Yeah. The steroids have got me a little buzzed, though."

"We’ll be at the hotel in about an hour. Maybe the effect will have petered off by then."

Cat yawned and stretched. "God, I hope so. If I don’t get some sleep soon, I think I’m going to explode." Opening her eyes, Cat swung her head, eyes alighting on Dylan’s heavily braced leg which was propped awkwardly in the aisle. "How ‘bout you?"

"Leg’s pretty numb," Dylan replied. Which was, she admitted privately, a damn sight better than the jagged, broken glass pains she’d been experiencing before. "But otherwise…not bad."

"Considering," Cat said with a wan smile.

"True," Dylan pondered, stroking her bottom lip. "We could be Horace Johnson."

Cat’s lips thinned in a grimace of distaste. "No, thanks."

Johnson was currently taking up space in a CCU in Denver, waiting to get strong enough to actually survive the surgery they had planned for him. Cat wondered how many Hail Marys she’d be expected to say if she confessed to the sin of—just for a split second, mind you—wishing the surgeon’s knife would slip just a fraction of an inch one way or the other.

Too many, she decided, and dropped the thought in favor of one involving a nice, soft bed, nice warm covers, and sleep.

Lots of it.

*******

Mac stood outside the gate looking like a puppy that had just gotten caught piddling on the carpet. An egg-suck grin was on his face as he shrugged his broad shoulders, empty hands raised to the air in a gesture of futility.

The reason for the expression was soon obvious as the small group came down the jetway.

Even airport security couldn’t keep back the crowds of people—mostly reporters—who pushed, jostled, shouted and snapped picture after picture, almost blinding the deplaning passengers. Dylan, saddled with her brace and a pair of already detested crutches, shot Mac a glowering look before hobbling into the terminal proper.

"Ms. Lambert, could you--?"

"Ms. Lambert, how was--?"

"Ms. Lambert, what did--?"

Fetching a deep sigh, Dylan hobbled over to the nearest microphone and yanked it from the hands of a startled reporter. "The plane crashed, we survived, and now we’re here. Have a good day, everyone."

The security guards strained to keep back the crush of reporters, then split in the middle, forming two parallel lines; a gauntlet of sorts that the members of the Badgers walked through and which ended at an electric people mover cart captained by a smiling skycap.

Cat sat down on the padded bench with a grateful sigh, then blinked several times to clear the white flashes from her eyes. "Jesus."

"Sorry about that," Mac said, voice contrite. "They were here when I got here."

"It’s alright," Dylan said, rolling her neck and shoulders to get the kinks out, which was pretty much an exercise in futility. Grunting softly, she gave up and simply concentrated on not falling out of the cart as the skycap hotdogged it down the mostly quiet corridors of the terminal.

She turned her head as she felt a warm hand settle on her shoulder. Mac smiled slightly, tears brimming in his eyes. "Thank god you’re okay," he whispered. "Just…thank God."

Dylan returned the smile and lifted her hand to cover his larger one, squeezing gently.

The rest of the ride was silent.

They left through a private exit and were immediately escorted into a waiting SUV limo, and from there to a large, well-appointed hotel a little less than an hour away.

The crowd that greeted them in the hotel wasn’t the press, but rather the coaches and players of the Badgers, cheering when their fallen heroes walked safely through the doors.

After touching Dylan almost reverently, as if she were the very goddess her name inspired, the players crowded around Cat, hugging her tightly and teasing her mercilessly—their way of whistling past the graveyard.

Caulley looked apologetically at Dylan after giving her a quick hug. "Sorry," she whispered. "I couldn’t get them to bed down."

"Been up all night?"

Caulley yawned. "Pretty much, yeah. When your flight was late, Mac started calling around. We didn’t get confirmation of the crash, and your rescue, until a couple of hours ago. By then, they were all too wired."

"We could talk to the league about postponing the game," Mac suggested, sidling up behind the small group.

Dylan gave the idea serious, if brief, consideration. Then she shook her head. "Nah. They’ve got too much energy that they need to burn off."

"I could give them the practice from hell," Caulley retorted, eyes glinting with an almost sadistic light.

Dylan smirked. "I’m sure you could, but…." She paused as Cat turned to her, expression almost pleading. "…I think we’ll just go ahead. See if you can coax ‘em into a couple hours’ shut eye at least, then we’ll set up for a light practice before the game. See what happens."

Caulley nodded. "I can do that." She lifted her head. "Alright, ladies, the party’s over. Everyone back to their rooms. Now," she ordered to forestall the expected protests. Shoulders slumped, the players filed back onto the elevators, leaving Mac, Dylan, Kelly Norton, and Cat behind.

Mac looked at the small group. "I…uh…put you and Cat in the room adjoining Dylan’s, Kelly. I figured you guys would want to…talk…or whatever."

Norton grinned. "Better hope I never tell your wife what a sweetie you are, Mac. You’ll never hear the end of it."

The others chuckled as Mac blushed hotly, fingering his collar and clearing his throat. "I, um…I….didn’t….."

Laughing, the physician clapped the huge man on his massive back. "Just teasing, my friend. Seriously, though, thanks. The closer space will let me check over my patients’ injuries. So, good job and all that kinda stuff."

"Thanks." The blush still hadn’t receded. "So…I’ll see you guys later, then?"

"Count on it."

********

The room was cool, dim, and comfortable. Cat groaned as she dropped her duffle on the side of one of the double beds and pulled down the spread. The soft whiteness beneath seemed to be calling her name, and she moved toward it willingly, until another voice, this one much sharper, broke into the fantasy.

"C’mon, shortchange. I need to check your sutures."

Groaning, Cat stamped her foot like a petulant child, and turned to the figure leaning against the doorjam that separated the two adjoining rooms. "Can’t you do it here?"

Norton grinned. "Nope. Light’s better in here. And besides, Dylan’s here and I’d rather just kill two birds with one stone, if you don’t mind. Some of us didn’t get a chance to nap on the way over."

"Oh, alright." Sighing, Cat followed the doctor into Dylan’s well lit room and sat down on the massive king-sized bed, careful not to jostle Dylan, who was already laying down, injured leg unbraced and propped up on several pillows.

"Ouch," Cat hissed, eyeing the lurid bruise that covered Dylan’s leg from mid thigh almost to her ankle. "Damn, that’s ugly."

"Doesn’t feel all that pretty either," Dylan bit off, shifting her weight in the bed as waves of angry pain rolled through the joint as if a hornet’s nest had taken up residence inside her knee. Her thigh and calf were cramping to beat the band, adding to the agony.

"Anything I can do?"

"Yeah," Norton replied, frustrated at her limited ability. "How are you at digging out Charley Horses? She’s cramping up bad but she can’t put weight on that leg."

"I’ve done a few in my time," Cat allowed.

"Alright, but make sure you don’t flex her foot and stretch the Achilles."

"Damn, well, that’ll make it a little harder, but…." She looked up at Dylan and received a short nod in return. "Okay. Tell me if I’m hurting you."

"Believe me, it won’t hurt any worse than it does now," Dylan grunted, both hands grabbing fistfuls of blanket and squeezing tight. "Just do it."

Stiffening her fingers, Cat dug into the cramp, grunting with the effort. She hadn’t been lying when she said that she had some experience with calf cramps, but she’d never had to try and soften one in a leg as muscled as Dylan’s. It was like trying to dig into solid rock. "I’m sorry," she murmured when Dylan flinched.

"’sokay. Just keep at it," the coach replied through gritted teeth.

The next several minutes were spent in tense silence as Cat’s strong fingers worked deep into the muscle, probing and massaging until the cramp finally, mercifully, began to loosen. She gentled her touches then, squeezing and releasing Dylan’s leg to make sure huge knot didn’t return. Feeling the tension slowly subside, she looked up to find Dylan slumped bonelessly against the headboard, eyes closed.

"God, that feels good."

Cat grinned happily. "Yeah? I’m glad."

The young woman’s fingers continued to move of their own accord, gliding over warm, silken skin in a languid caress. A movement off to her left caused her to shift her gaze from Dylan’s peaceful face to Norton, who bore a decided smirk.

It was then that Cat realized what she was doing and, flushing from her neck to her hairline, she drew her hand back as if her fingers were on fire.

Norton laughed softly, shaking her head. "Lay down up there with Dylan, Cat. Let me finish up with the Goddess here, and I’ll check your sutures in a couple minutes."

"Are you sure?" Cat asked, a bit uncomfortable. "I mean, I could just…."

"C’mon up here," Dylan said, eyes still closed. "I won’t bite."

"That’s not what I heard," Norton snorted, using her uncasted hand to massage the big muscles in Dylan’s thigh.

One blue eye opened and gave her a stare before closing again.

Once again realizing how truly exhausted she was, Cat crawled up the bed, then turned, and flopped down on her back, one arm flung over her eyes.

A second later, she was fast asleep.

"Poor kid," Norton said softly as she finished the massage. "Kinda rough start for her, huh?"

Opening her eyes, Dylan rolled her head and looked down at Cat’s peaceful face. She fought the urge to gently stroke the pale cheek, just to see if it was as soft as it felt. "Yeah."

"She’s pretty resilient, though, I’ll give her that."

Norton looked over at Dylan and knew her words were wasted. The tall superstar seemed totally absorbed in the smaller figure laying next to her. There was a smile on her face that Norton, who had known Dylan for over ten years, had never seen on her face before. Sweet, tender, laced with warm affection and, possibly, something else.

"Dylan?"

"Yeah?"

As the doctor looked on, Cat shifted, then rolled onto her side, one hand reaching out and curling around Dylan’s wrist.

Norton smiled.

"Nothing."

Grabbing the brace, she reapplied it to the coach, seating the Velcro firmly, but not too tightly. Then she rounded the bed and brushed Cat’s bangs away, checking on the neat line of sutures right at her hairline. Aside from a little residual swelling, everything seemed to be fine. And she could tell just by listening that the steroids and antibiotics Cat had been given had done their job.

"Listen, it’s probably best if she stays here with you tonight. No sense in waking her up and bringing her back to the other room, right? I mean…as long as you’re comfortable with it."

"I’ll be fine," Dylan replied, distracted by the warm, soft hand encircling her wrist.

Norton smirked. "I’m sure you will be, my friend. I’m sure you will be."

Bidding them both a silent goodnight, she left the room and closed the door quietly behind her.

*******

Cat looked at the bags on the counter. She sighed and wondered if she could really pulled this off and why in the name of God she hadn’t just agreed to go out to Dylan’s favorite restaurant.

She knew exactly why, and it didn’t take her mind long to come up with the answer as she reached in a brown sack and retrieved the ingredients. She wanted to be alone with Dylan. Plain and simple. She didn’t want to share her with the outside world on the night that was their first ‘official’ date.

She had offered to make Dylan a ‘wonderful’ vegetarian meal. Now all she had to do was figure out exactly how to do that. She had slightly misrepresented her cooking skills. She would never starve to death, but she had always felt it was best not to subject her friends to her culinary offerings.

After taking all the things she had purchased at the farmer’s market and the local health food store out of their bags, she retrieved the recipes that she had downloaded from the internet.

Her mother had always told her you couldn’t go wrong if you always followed the recipe. She really hoped that her mother was right this time.

She placed the fresh vegetables in the dish drainer, knowing they would need to be washed and chopped up as she prepared each dish.

Her menu was complete. She would offer Dylan nice raw vegetables with homemade ranch dressing and vegetarian pate for hor d'oeuvres. Dinner would start with a nice miso soup, and then she would serve spinach soufflé and roasted chilies with garlic sauce.

As far as she could tell from all the research she had done this would be a nice meal with the tastes and textures complimenting each other. She had called her mother and asked her for ideas. Her mother wasn’t much help, reminding Cat that she came from a meat and potatoes family and maybe she should try to bring Dylan over to the dark side. That was when she suggested the recipes.

Cat read the recipes as she sorted the ingredients and set everything into their respective piles. "I can do this," she muttered to herself. "I can fix a perfectly nice dinner for her. It’s only vegetables for Christ’s sake."

She heard him and looked over to see Hamlet sitting in the kitchen doorway. His head cocked to one side and one eyebrow apparently raised.

"Not a word out of you, Flea Bag."

The dog all but smirked before plopping down on the floor, head resting on paws to watch his mistress. Smiling, Cat took a treat from the container on the counter and tossed it at the dog. His head whipped up and he snatched the tasty treat from the air with a snap.

"You’re so easy," Cat chuckled and then started removing pots and pans from under the cabinets. "I wonder if Dylan can be trained through her stomach."

Cat continued working around the kitchen. Her mind wandered to many topics in order to keep her from thinking about Dylan. They had lost the big game in California. It wasn’t any wonder really, given that she and Dylan had spent the night on a freezing mountain, not quite sure if they were going to live.

Not only were they in no condition to perform their respective roles as player and coach, but the rest of the team had gotten very little sleep when they found out the private plane had gone down. To make matters worse, early reports stated that there had been no survivors and they were waiting for the bodies to be brought down.

Fortunately, Cat, Dylan, and the team doctor had made it out with what could be considered minor injuries, considering the situation. Unfortunately, Cat thought acidly, Horace had survived not only the crash, but a heart attack as well. She shook her head as began slicing vegetables, her mother would not be proud of her for thinking such things. Even if Horace Johnson was a narrow minded, bigoted son of a bitch.

They split the next two games of their road trip, and arrived back home battered, bruised, and sitting in third in their division.

Needless to say, no one was very happy when they touched down in Birmingham just the day before, and Cat just about started in surprise when Dylan reminded her of her bargain and their first ‘real’ date together. She couldn’t snap the idea up quickly enough, and then spent the rest of the night worrying that Dylan might think her something tart, and cheap, and rhyming with ‘go’.

Shaking herself out of those less than pleasant memories, she covered the tray of veggies and the now freshly made pate and placed it in the refrigerator so they would be properly chilled when Dylan arrived.

Next, onto the stock for the soup. She was very pleased with herself and that she had not made any critical errors. She was a bit worried about how soft the tofu was, but she decided that since it was made from soybeans it was probably suppose to be mushy. It still cut up just fine into little cubes to be put in the soup.

She peered into the to soup pan stirring it slowly. "I think it’s okay. God I’m going to need a burger after she leaves." A slight, sexy smile crossed her lips as she put just a touch of pepper in the soup. "If she leaves."

Everything was prepared and Cat had to give herself credit. For dishes that had nothing that resembled meat in them, they all smelled good.

"I’m amazed," she mumbled as she looked into the last pan, containing the roasted chilies. The aroma was spicy and Cat wondered if she would be able to eat it. Hot food was not her thing, but she knew Dylan had a taste for it.

Hamlet jumped up and dashed for the door when the bell rang. He stood there, barking and growling and doing what he was trained to do, protect Cat, with his very life if need be.

"All right ferocious, knock it off. Its just Dylan." She reached down and tugged on his collar, causing him to stop immediately. He sat back and waited for her to open the door. If she was wrong he was right there to tear the throat out of anyone who would hurt his human.

Cat smiled when she opened the door, finding Dylan leaning against the jam. A bottle of wine in one hand and a bouquet of wild flowers in the other. She’d rid herself of her damnable crutches the day before, over the vociferous objections of Norton and the entire medical staff, and was down to the bulky brace that she wore under loose black slacks.

"Hi," she said softly, causing chills to run up and down Cat’s spine.

"Hi, yourself. Come on in." She stepped back and allowed the tall woman entrance.

Hamlet was sure that no one was here for dastardly purposes and left them standing there as he went to his big bed in the living room.

"I’m glad we decided to do this, Cat." Dylan offered the flowers first then the wine.

Cat took both, blushing at the flowers and looking at the bottle. "I thought you didn’t drink."

"I don’t really, but one glass of wine with dinner tonight isn’t going to kill me and I thought I would show you I’m not totally weird."

"Do you like tofu?"

"Love it!"

"Great, you’ll love the soup, but you’re still weird." She chuckled as she walked to the kitchen with Dylan following behind.

Dylan took a seat on a stool at the breakfast counter. She grinned as Cat removed the trays from the fridge and placed them in front of her, uncovering them with a flourish.

"For your approval madam, fresh vegetables and a vegetable pate. The crackers are also kosher for you meat hating types. I checked just to make sure."

"You’ve gone all out for me. I’m impressed."

"Of course I did. I wanted us to have a nice first date."

Dylan smiled and took Cat’s hand gently, running her thumb over the back of soft skin. "It’s already nice, because we’re together."

"You’re very sweet. You know that?"

Cat is delighted to see Dylan duck her head and smile in a slightly bashful way. The blonde leaned forward and placed a soft kiss to the lips before her.

When she drew back, she smiled again. "I’m glad you’re here."

"Me too."

Cat cleared her throat and slapped back all the thoughts of leaving dinner untouched as she dragged Dylan to her bedroom. "Try the pate."

The tall woman nodded and took one of the crackers in hand. Cat turned away and rooted around in the drawer for a wine opener.

"Oooo this is good."

Cat turned around, nearly dropping the bottle and the corkscrew. "Really?" Blonde brows jumped to her hairline.

"Yes, really." Dylan laughed. "It’s very good."

There was an audible sigh of relief, which made Dylan chuckle harder.

"Don’t tell me you were worried."

"Of course I was worried," she stated as she struggled with getting the cork from the bottle. "My idea of vegetarian is extra tomatoes on my hamburger."

Dylan took the bottle and easily removed the cork as two glasses were placed in front of her. "Thanks."

"No problem. After spending all day in the kitchen, that was easy." Cat sat moved around the breakfast bar and took a seat next to Dylan. Taking her wine glass she held it up in toast, "Here’s to a wonderful evening."

"I’ll drink to that." She sipped her wine before turning back to the pate. She offered a cracker coated in the greenish brown paste. "Try it."

"I dunno…"

"Oh now come on, you didn’t go to all this trouble, just to let me eat it myself."

Cat tasted the mixture, reluctantly agreeing with a nod that it was pretty good.

"So," Dylan popped the rest of the cracker in her mouth. "What else is for dinner?"

"Miso soup…"

"One of my favorites."

"Good. Spinach soufflé and roasted chilies."

"Wow you did go all out didn’t you?"

"I tried."

"Thanks. Not many people go to the trouble of cooking for me."

"I actually enjoyed it."

Dylan absently scratched her neck. "When will it be ready?"

"Oh it’s ready now."

"Then let’s eat, but before we do, can I use your bathroom?"

"Sure, you know where it is."

Dylan got up and headed upstairs, while Cat dishes out the soup. She noticed that it had an extremely tangy smell she hadn’t noticed before, but she figured it must be natural.

"Hey Cat?"

She moved so she could look up to the railing where Dylan was standing. "Yeah?"

"Did the pate have peanuts in it?"

"No why?"

"Well, I’m starting to break out like I do when I eat peanuts. I have a mild allergy. Nothing serious. I was just wondering."

"No it’s got…" she paused, then dashed into the kitchen, pulling a bottle of oil from the cabinet. "Oh shit!" She ran back out and looked up again. "Peanut oil."

"That’s it." Dylan chuckled as she descended the stairs.

"I’m so sorry."

"Hey, it’s okay, really. I forgot to tell you and you had no way to know."

"Oh damn."

"Cat, really, it’s okay. I swear. It’s not serious. I just won’t be eating anymore of that pate."

Cat nodded ruefully and headed back into the kitchen. "How about soup, I promise no peanuts or peanut extract got within a foot of it."

"Perfect."

They went to the small dining table, which Cat had set with a tablecloth and candles. The addition of Dylan’s flowers made it very romantic.

Seated, Cat brought the soupspoon to her lips but stopped just short when the smell assailed her again. Dylan looked at the bowl with some concern.

"Ummm Cat, what’s in this soup?"

"It’s a vegetable stock with tofu."

"Un-huh. Did you put the tofu in the fridge?"

"No, it’s bean curd for God’s sake…" She stopped and looked to Dylan. "It went bad?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "I’m afraid so, tofu can go bad in a flash."

"I don’t believe this."

"Hey, we still have the soufflé and the roasted chilies."

"Right." Cat tried to remain positive, but her hopes were slowly diminishing. "Let’s hope I don’t kill you with those."

"Cat," Dylan moved closer and wrapped her arms around the smaller woman. "You have no idea how much it means to me that you even tried this. Vegan cooking isn’t easy."

"Vegan?" Cat slowly drew back. "As in no meat by products?"

"Yeah."

"Great there goes the soufflé."

"What?"

"Eggs and milk," Cat sat back down. "God, this has got to go onto your list of hellish dates."

"No," Dylan returned to her seat. "It’s not hellish. I could stand to lose a little weight." She joked hoping to lighten the mood. "We still have roast chilies."

"Are you sure you’re that brave?"

"Absolutely, bring them on."

Cat wasn’t sure why Dylan was being so gracious about the whole mess, but she hoped that she wouldn’t go screaming into the night. Well, at least not running away. Screaming into the night was high on Cat’s list of things that she wanted to hear Dylan do.

Dylan looked at the dish, smiled and speared a huge amount of the colorful vegetables that had been prepared just for her. She smiled at Cat as she started to chew.

Cat watched as Dylan’s eyes grew wide and panic crossed her face as chewing got slower and slower and it was obvious she was desperate to find a place to rid herself of the food. The napkin in her lap was the only option, once the food had been disposed of, she grabbed her wine glass and drank it straight down, then blindly grabbed for Cat’s glass as well.

She was coughing and choking, her face was bright red and tears were steaming down her cheeks. Cat dashed to the kitchen and poured Dylan a glass of soy milk, she didn’t even have time to turn around before Dylan reached passed her and grabbed the regular milk and gulped it straight from the carton.

After nearly finishing a quart of milk in one long gulp, Dylan sank to the floor sliding against the wall as she did.

Cat knelt and placed her hands on Dylan’s knees. "I’m sorry."

"What," the tall woman gasped. "What kind of chilies did you use?"

"I when to the farmer’s market and told them I needed red, yellow and green chilies…"

"Oh God…" Dylan blew out a long slow breath. "Cat, Roasted Chilies, don’t actually have chilies in them. They have bell peppers…it’s just called Roasted Chilies."

"That’s stupid, why not call it Roasted Bell Peppers?"

"I have no idea." Dylan wiped the tears from her eyes. "God, that was hot."

Cat’s shoulders slumped. "I’m so, so sorry."

"These things happen."

"Yeah, but why do they have to happen to me?" Cat slumped on the floor next to Dylan and placed her hand on the tall woman’s leg.

"Just lucky I guess."

"So now what are we going to do for dinner."

Dylan removed her cell from her hip. "I have it covered."

*******

Dylan took the wine glasses to the living room while Cat cleaned up the remnants of their delivered dinner. The coach had taken pity on her player and ordered from a place that would bring her something with meat.

Cat enjoyed a nice chicken and rice dish while Dylan had eaten a passable vegan lasagna. It wasn’t what Cat had hoped for, but Dylan seemed to take it all in stride and they had a nice evening.

As the blonde considered her disaster in the kitchen, Hamlet watched from the edged of the tile floor. Cat gathered up the soufflé and dropped it into his bowl. "Here you go pal. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it."

The dog wandered over to his bowl and sniffed. Then he sat down and looked at Cat with a whine. He almost seemed to be shaking his head no.

"Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad!"

Hamlet whined again.

"Was it?"

The dog barked this time.

Cat relaxed as she felt strong arms encircle her from behind. "You never can go wrong with dessert," Dylan purred into her ear.

"You can if you don’t have any," Cat replied over the heartbeat thundering in her ears.

Dylan’s resulting chuckle, deep and sensual, turned Cat’s mouth into a desert as all the moisture in her body headed southward for the summer.

"There’s more than one way to defur a feline."

Her hand was gently clasped and she followed Dylan blindly into the living room, spending the duration of the short trip simply bribing her legs to work properly.

She then found herself blinking owlishly down at Dylan who had appropriated much of the couch and was lounging there like a well fed cat, long arms resting against the back. "Care to join me?" She flashed a sexy grin that had Cat seeing a whole galaxy’s worth of stars. "I don’t bite. I promise."

"Not even if I ask?" Cat asked finally, sliding down to sit closer to the tall woman.

"Well now, that a horse of a different color." Dylan lifted her hand and palm Cat’s cheek. "You’re a beautiful woman, Catherine Hodges."

"Think so?" Cat could feel her face heat as a blush traveled from her collarbones up into her hair.

"Oh, I know so." A long thumb brushed against coral lips, soothing and exciting them at the same time. "And I also know if I don’t kiss you soon, my had may explode."

"We can’t have that," the blonde sighed and leaned forward. "You need your head."

"I’m pretty attached to it actually." Dylan smiled and leaned forward, tenderly kissing Cat’s lips.

Cat moaned softly, drowning in the almost overwhelming emotion of the gentle exchange. Warmth spread outward from her heart, traveling through her body and back again in a never ending cycle. She blindly followed Dylan’s lips as they pulled away, and when a gentle tongue drew itself across her highly sensitized flesh, she welcomed it inside her, drinking in the taste, the essence of the woman who had caused this powerful hunger to well and rage within her.

Dylan finally pulled back and leaned against the back of the couch, bringing Cat with her and keeping her close within her tender embrace. Cat could hear her powerful heart thumping double time, and she smiled, knowing Dylan was just as effected as she.

"We needed this," Dylan said quietly, a husky undertone coloring her voice. "Just a quiet night without homophobes or crashing planes." She cocked her head slightly, effortlessly capturing Cat’s rapturous gaze. "Unless you’d like to go somewhere else?"

"I don’t think we should risk it," Cat reached up and unfastened the top button of Dylan’s shirt, pressing a kiss to the hollow of Dylan’s throat. "We should just stay here."

Another button, and another kiss. Dylan’s scent rose up to greet her, and she felt as if she were falling. "Until at least tomorrow," she continued in a voice she didn’t even recognize as her own.

As a third button loosened, Dylan felt herself quickly begin to lose what little control she had left. Her hand came up of its own volition, cradling the back of Cat’s head as her fingers threaded themselves through the incredibly soft hair. The sensations rushing through her body easily melted her self-imposed restraints and her mind, whirling with emotion and need, struggled to remind her of the promises she’d made to them both.

With a great amount of reluctance, her body screaming at her every millimeter of the way, she pulled again away from Cat. Looking into the glazed and passion-dark eyes almost trumped her resolve. She took in a very shaky breath, and eased it out slowly, demanding her body to calm itself.

"Did…did I do something wrong?" Cat asked in a voice that almost broke Dylan’s heart.

Gathering the younger woman closely to her, Dylan strokes the fine blonde hair in a soothing manner. "God, no. No, Cat. You did everything right. Everything, believe me."

"Then why…?"

"We…um…." Dylan cleared her throat. "We agreed to take this slowly, remember?"

Cat blinked once, then nodded, almost timidly. "Yeah. We did."

Closing her eyes, Dylan gathered the younger woman against her as fully and as tenderly as she could. "Cat, believe me when I tell you that there is nothing, and I mean nothing, that I would rather do right now than to make love with you right now."

"There’s a ‘but’ in there," Cat mumbled against Dylan’s cloth covered chest. "I just know there is."

"There is," Dylan said sadly. She sighed. "Cat, the truth is, I’m so damned attracted to you that I can’t see straight some days."

"Well, that’s a good thing. Isn’t it?"

Dylan laughed softly. "A very good thing," she agreed.

"But…."

"But we need to take this slowly. Not just for us, but for our careers. We have a lot to focus on with the team, and to be completely honest with you, Cat, if we make love now, here, tonight, I’m afraid that my focus on my job will suffer. And that’s not something I can afford to let happen right now."

Cat was still for a very long time. Dylan continued softly stroking her hair, content to let the young woman process her words and draw her own conclusions from them.

Finally, Cat sighed and pulled slightly away, tilting her head to meet Dylan’s eyes. "Even if the rest of me doesn’t agree, my head knows you’re right." Lifting a hand, she stroked the sharply etched planes of her coach’s beautiful face. "Since it’s our night for confessions, I’ll tell you that from the moment I saw you in my dorm room that day, I’ve known that I could lose myself in you so very easily, Pallas Dylan Lambert."

"You have, huh?"

"Oh yes. But I also know that you’re right. We’ve both put our life’s energies into what we do on the court, and I guess we need to make that our first priority." She looked up, a little guilty. "And I’m not sure I could do that once I made love to you for the first time."

The hug she received was worth every aching hormone in her body, and she sunk blissfully into it, praying with one corner of her mind, that it would never end.

*******

It was well after midnight when Dylan said her goodbyes for the evening. The accompanying kiss left Cat’s entire body feeling like Jell-O, and she stood on unsteady legs waving goodbye until Dylan’s taillights disappeared down the street.

Hamlet, sitting just inside the door, whined, then gave a soft yip to get his master’s attention. Cat turned to him, in a daze. "Oh. Sorry boy. I guess you need to go out, huh?"

A sharper bark was her answer, and she led the dog out onto the grounds to take care of business.

When they reentered the apartment, Cat looked at the used glasses on the coffee table and shrugged. "They’ll still be there in the morning. C’mon, Hamlet. You can wait by my bed while I take a shower." She paused as she touched her still tingling lips. "A long, cold shower."

*******

"Time! Call time!!" Dylan strode down the sidelines, eyes blazing, her hands forming the universal "time out" symbol.

From the corner of her eye, Cat caught Dylan’s gesture and signaled the ref for a time out. The whistle blew, and the teams trotted to their respective sidelines.

The trainers came immediately forward, handing the sweating women towels and bottles of water, which were quickly grabbed and put to good use.

Dylan looked up at the clock, though she had the entire scoreboard printed on her retinas. Eleven point nine seconds was a veritable eternity in basketball. Even if you were behind. Unless, of course, you didn’t have the ball.

"Stern, you’re in for King." The rangy forward nodded and headed for the scorer’s table to check in with the ref.

"Alright, the rest of you, listen up. We’re gonna be heavy handed on the inbounds. Tippens and LeRoy, I want you in on their passer like you’re glued together, understand?"

Both women, dripping with sweat, nodded.

"Alright. If you can get a five second violation, we’re good. If not, foul. I don’t care how, just foul. We still have one to give, so make it count."

"What happens if we can get a five?" Chaney asked, running a hand through her sodden dreds.

"I don’t care who in-bounds," Dylan replied. "Just get it to Hodge." She turned to Cat. "If you have an unbelievably free shot, go for it, but if not, hold it as long as you can, alright? We don’t want this backfiring on us."

"Got it."

The buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the time out.

"Alright, ladies, let’s win this."

"Goddess!"

Dylan rolled her eyes, as she did every time her team made its rallying cheer. The team grinned back at her before turning and running onto the court, ready for action.

Blowing her whistle, the ref handed the ball to the Legend passer. Immediately, the young, rather short, woman was surrounded on two sides by the Badgers’ forwards, doing their best to block every conceivable passing lane the young woman might think up.

Five seconds later, the whistle blew again. The guard slammed the ball down in frustration, and Chaney ran to the sideline to retrieve it, grinning like a madwoman.

Giving the Legend players no time to set up, Chaney passed the ball to King, who in turn hit Cat with a perfect bounce pass. Instead of going in for the shot, which would have meant trying to avoid the Legend center, all six foot seven of her, Cat shot an eye toward the clock, noticed she still had over seven seconds left, and deliberately slowed her dribble, allowing her teammates time to set up.

It was then that she was hit from behind by a runaway train in the form of the same Legend guard who had failed to get her pass in-bounds. Cat flew into Chaney, and both women fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs. The ball jumped from Cat’s hands and skittered across the endline.

The whistle blew as Dylan jumped to her feet. "Flagrant foul! Two, ref!! Two!!"

As soon as the referee held up two fingers, the Legend coach, a never-was by the name of Ken Handley, rushed out onto the court, narrow chest thrust so far out it looked like he was setting sail. "Bullshit! Bullshit!!"

"Go back to the bench, Coach Handley, or I’ll hit you with a technical."

"Go ahead! See if I give a flying fuck! You’re killin’ us out here, ref! You’re killin us!"

"Back to the bench, Coach. I’m warning you."

"Warn this you fucking dyke loving piece of shit!" Handley punched the ball from the referee’s hands, narrowly missing Chaney’s head.

Dylan flew onto the court just as the ref was calling a technical and an ejection. Caulley ran after Dylan and grabbed her by the arm. Dylan shook the restraining hand off and continued forward, eyes silver and blazing in the brilliant lighting.

Ignoring the irate coach who steeled himself to go toe to toe with her, as if the event had turned from basketball to WCW wrestling, Dylan strode over to Cat and Chaney, who were on their feet and dusting themselves off.

"You alright?"

"I am," Cat replied, "but I Chane twisted her ankle pretty bad when I fell on top of her."

Chaney scowled at Cat. "I’m fine, shortchange."

"Get Tippens. She’s going in for you."

"Coach…."

"Do it."

Sighing, Chaney stalked back to the bench, trying hard not to limp. She was less than successful.

As Chaney left, Dylan turned back to Cat. "You sure you’re alright?"

"Not so much as a skinned knee," Cat replied, grinning. "Looks like I finally got a break."

"Don’t jinx it."

They both looked over at the opposition’s bench as the ejected Handley kicked a chair in true Bobby Knight fashion.

"Jackass," Dylan muttered, shaking her head. "He just cost his team the game."

"Think so, huh?" Turning slightly, Cat gazed at the backboard. "Guess it’s time to see if all those hours of free throws paid off, huh?" Her smile was slightly pained.

"Just do your best," Dylan replied, putting a hand on Cat’s shoulder and giving it a brief squeeze.

Cat grinned. "You know it."

With a short nod, Dylan walked off the court as the teams lined up just outside the key. The ubiquitous whistle blew yet again as the referee tossed Cat the ball.

The large crowd went silent. Not that that mattered to Cat. She wouldn’t have heard them if they were buck naked and playing the Star Spangled Banner on kazoos. All she heard was the slow, calm beat of her heart overlaid by the sound of the ball hitting the varnished cart and bouncing back into her hands.

Once. Twice. Three times. Get a quick look to the hoop. Shoot.

The crowd erupted as the ball slipped through the basket, hitting nothing but net.

Smiling at her teammates, she accepted the praise and deft pats on various parts of her anatomy before again receiving the ball and taking her position.

The second shot wasn’t quite so pretty, and Cat’s heart leapt into her throat as the ball came down too quickly and bounced on the front of the rim, shooting straight up and rattling around the rim for a good bit before finally deciding to drop through the net.

The crowd stood and cheered as Cat again received the congratulations of her teammates, this time liberally sprinkled with good-natured teasing.

The third shot was anticlimactic. Cat knew it was a done deal as soon as the ball left her hands. She was already walking toward the sidelines before it even went through the net, only to be swept up by her teammates and paraded across the court like a conquering hero to the excited cheers of more than ten thousand fans.

The whole thing went by in an adrenaline-filled haze, but Cat would always remember the bright blue eyes, filled with pride, meeting and melding into her own.

*******

Cat was waiting for Chaney as the taller woman hobbled out of the trainer’s room on a set of crutches. Her foot and ankle were encased in a bulky splint, and the look on her face was anything but pleasant.

"Damn, Chane! Are you alright? What’s the verdict?"

"Ain’t no big deal, just a strain. I don’t even know why I have to use these damn things."

"You’ll use ‘em because I told you to use ‘em." Norton walked out of the room, straightening the lapels of her lab jacket. "Because if you don’t…."

"I know, I know," Chaney replied, hanging her head.

"I know you know. Just know that I have spies everywhere, so don’t let me hear that you wowed the patrons at that pro am next weekend, and you won’t have to hear me tell you you’re benched for the next two months."

Chaney’s eyes widened. "Shit! The pro-am! I totally forgot about that!" She turned to Cat, a look of misery on her face. "I’m sorry, Shortchange. Damn."

"It’s okay," Cat replied. "It’s more important to get than ankle of yours better."

"Yeah, but…damn." She brightened a touch. "Hey! Maybe you can get one of those guys to sub for me?"

Cat shook her head. "Can’t. They’re either using the break to see their families or taking a nice stress free vacation."

"Shit." Chaney looked around. "What about Caulley?"

Cat’s jaw dropped. "You’re kidding, right? Tell me you’re kidding."

Chaney laughed. "Alright, so she’s not the best replacement in the world, but at least she has a pulse, right?"

"I think I’d kill myself first."

Both fell into the silence of their individual thoughts. Suddenly, Chaney’s eyes lit. "Hey! What about--?"

"No."

"But—"

"No. Don’t even think about it."

"Why not? She’s perfect! You couldn’t ask for a better draw!"

"Except for one tiny little detail."

"What’s that?"

"She doesn’t play anymore, remember?"

Chaney flapped her hand, almost losing a crutch in the process. "Aww, that ain’t a big deal. I bet if you asked her real nice, she might consider it."

"I think you’re overestimating my persuasive abilities."

Chaney leered. "Aw, c’mon Shortchange. You could talk Eskimos into ice cubes and you know it. You got charm oozin’ outta your…"

"That’s enough," Cat warned, grinning. "I get your point, even if I don’t exactly agree with it."

"So? You gonna ask her?"

"I…don’t think so, Chane," she demurred. "You know how quiet she is on the b-ball topic."

"Oh, c’mon, shorty. What’s the worst she could say? No?"

"She could throw me out on my ass and trade me."

Chaney laughed. "She ain’t like that and you know it. Now go on, chickenshit, or I’ll do it for you."

Cat looked at her, wide-eyed. "You wouldn’t."

"You bet your sweet ass I would, girl. So," she grinned, easy and wide, "what’s it gonna be?"

"I can break that other ankle for you," Cat mock-warned.

"And miss seeing this gorgeous face rescuing your ass every game? I don’t think so."

Shaking her head, Cat laughed. "All right, all right, I give."

"So you’ll ask her?"

"Yes, I’ll ask her."

"You go, girl! Gimme a day or so and I’ll turn over all the money I collected to you, k? It’s a lotta green."

"Chane, you don’t have to do…."

"Sure I do. It’s for a damn good cause. Knock em dead, shortchange."

With a last wide grin, Chaney hobbled away, cursing her crutches every step of the way.

When the door swung shut, Cat was left in the hallway alone. Rubbing suddenly sweaty palms against her jeans, she tried to assemble the thoughts running scattered through her head. After a moment, she sighed, shoulders slumped. "I can’t believe I let you talk me into this."

"Talking to the arena ghost again?"

The velvet voice close over her shoulder scared several years of life out of the young player. Jumping, she spun and almost ended up in Dylan’s arms.

"Jesus! You just scared the crap outta me!"

Dylan smirked. "I called your name, but you didn’t answer. You seemed…preoccupied."

"Oh! Well. I was. Kinda."

"Mm."

Cat sighed.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"I…um…." She looked down at her feet, then back into Dylan’s intense eyes. "You remember me talking to you about the Children’s Cancer Initiative Pro-Am tourney?"

Dylan nodded. "Yeah. Gave you a contribution a few weeks back."

"That’s right," Cat replied, remembering her shock at the number of zeroes following the first figure of said contribution. "Thanks again, by that way. That was incredibly generous of you."

Dylan flung a negligent hand.

"Well…my playing partner was supposed to be Chaney, but Doc Norton’s keeping her off her foot until the break’s over, so I’m…kinda stuck."

"Anyone else available to help you out?"

"No," Cat replied, shaking her head. "Everybody’s leaving for vacation."

A slow, if not entirely pleasant, smile spread over Dylan’s lips. "Let me guess. Chaney tried to talk you into asking me to sub for her."

"Yes?" It might not have been meant to be a question, but it came out that way.

The smile disappeared. "No."

"But…"

"No." Dylan sighed. "Look, we’ve been through this before. I don’t play anymore. Period."

"But you do, Dylan. You play every day in practice."

"That’s different," Dylan replied, scowling.

"How? How is it different? You play harder than the rest of us combined, and you know it. You’re out there every day, for hours at a time, putting us through our paces. No one can keep up with you, though God knows we try. And I’ve even heard some of the coaches say that you practice at home as well. So tell me, how is it different?"

Eyeing her companion for a moment, Dylan shook her head. "I don’t want to get into this now."

"Ok." Cat held up her hands. "Ok. I won’t push you. Just…at least think about it, okay? It’s for a good cause, and you know that your name would ensure a record turn out."

A small smile curved Dylan’s lips. "Not pushing me, huh?"

Cat blushed slightly, chagrinned. "Well…." Stepping forward, she placed a gentle hand on Dylan’s wrist. "Just think about it, okay?"

After a long moment, Dylan nodded. "Okay."

*******

Cat was sitting on her couch wearing her oldest, holiest, and most paint-splattered pair of sweatpants topped by a t-shirt she’d had since Junior High. A three-quarters empty jumbo bag of chocolate double-stuffed Oreos sat on the coffee table next to a similarly desiccated jug of milk.

The TV was blaring Southern Sports Network’s Weekend Roundup through its large speakers. The commentators, both women, were going methodically through the WBL’s All-Star lineup. Both speculated why no Badger, and in particular Cat Hodges, had been selected.

"Good question!" Cat shouted through a mouthful of cookies, toasting the screen with the milk jug. "Damn good question!"

The doorbell rang as Cat was gulping down her milk, and she almost choked. Swallowing hard, she slammed the jug down on the table and levered herself out of the couch.

"I’m comin’, I’m comin’," she grumbled at the doorbell as it rang again. "Keep your shirt on."

"Ooooh," she said as she took a look through the peephole, "on second thought, take it off!"

Grinning widely, she unlocked and swung open the door. "Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in!"

Smirking, Dylan gave Cat a slow, head to toe look.

Cat looked down at her grubby clothes and flushed. "I know, I know. Look what the cat threw up, right?"

"You said it, not me."

"You didn’t have to." The smile returned and, reaching out, Cat caught Dylan’s wrist and pulled her inside the apartment. "So, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

"I was taking care of some business across town and figured I’d stop by on my way back and give you this." Dylan handed her a thick envelope. "Came for you today."

Spying the return address, Cat smiled and ripped open the envelope. Her smile faded in confusion. "First class tickets? I didn’t order…." Reaching into the envelope, she pulled out a second booklet. She raised disbelieving eyes to Dylan. "You’re going?"

Dylan’s glossy hair swung free as she nodded.

"Oh my god!" Stepping forward, Cat threw her arms around Dylan and hugged her close, beaming with pleasure at the news. "Thank you so much! God, this is gonna be great!"

"Well, I don’t know how great it’s gonna be, but I’m glad it makes you happy."

"You have no idea." Reaching up, she pulled Dylan’s head down and gave her a kiss that left the taller woman seeing stars.

After a long moment, Dylan pulled away, grinning. "Oh," she drawled, tasting Cat on her lips, "I think I might have some idea."

Cat chuckled.

"So, how’s dinner sound?"

"Hmm…I might be persuaded." Looking up at Dylan, she grinned. "Is tall, dark and delicious on the menu?"

Dylan rolled her eyes. "As long as it’s a thick steak or a large cup of coffee, no problem."

Cat affected a pout, which earned her a gentle bump on the nose from her tall partner. "So?"

"I suppose," Cat replied, releasing a sigh worthy of any martyr. "Gimme a second to change, ok?"

"Sure."

******

The pair was just finishing what even Cat had to admit was an absolutely fabulous, and rather romantic, meal when Dylan’s phone rang. With a grunt of disgust, she pulled the slim phone from her jacket pocket, unflipped it, and held it to her ear. Barely a moment later, she closed the phone and sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers.

"What?" Cat asked.

"The idiot who calls himself my agent," Dylan grumbled. "I was supposed to sign some papers for him today and I left them back at my house." Shaking her head, she shoved the phone back in her jacket. "Damnit. I’d normally blow him off, but he’s meeting with Nike tomorrow, and they’re already whining about the damn contract."

Cat’s face fell a little, though she tried valiantly to hide her disappointment. "That’s okay," she said finally, giving her best smile. "We were pretty much done here anyway, right?"

"Yeah." Dylan’s fierce blue eyes softened. "I’m sorry, Cat. This wasn’t what I had in mind when I suggested going out for dinner."

"That’s okay." Cat’s smile became more genuine. "You can always make it up to me later."

Chuckling, Dylan eased her long frame from the bench seat and stood, straightening the lay of her jacket. "Ready?"

"Let’s go."

Once inside her car, Dylan looked at her watch, then lightly beat her hand against the steering wheel. "We’re never gonna make it. His damn plane leaves in a couple hours."

"Well…um…are we close to your house?" Cat paused a moment, then hurried on. "I mean, instead of dropping me off and then going back, we could just go over to your house, pick up the papers, and drop them off, right? I mean, if that’s okay."

Cat wasn’t sure why she was suddenly feeling so hesitant, but she did know that above all things, Dylan’s privacy was her most prized possession. She hadn’t seen her coach’s house yet, hadn’t even asked about it, and figured Dylan would issue the invitation when she was ready. If she was ever ready.

She bravely raised her eyes, to meet Dylan’s smiling gaze.

"I’m glad someone in this car remembered their brains today. You sure you don’t mind coming along?"

"Are you kidding?" Spreading her arms, Cat lounged back into the incredibly soft leather of the bucket seat. "Lead on, Madame. I’m yours for the evening."

*******

"Geez," Cat remarked, stepping out of the car and eyeing the grounds of Dylan’s estate, "this place have its own zip code?"

"Ha, ha," was Dylan’s droll reply as she walked toward the door and inserted her key. Opening the door, she is almost bowled over by two very large, very feisty dogs, who stopped briefly to greet her, then pelted outside to snarl at the intruder to their domain.

"Halt!" Dylan yelled, freezing both dogs in their tracks before Cat had the chance to either scream or keel over. "You’d better both be sitting by the time I turn around, or I’m going to have a nice pair of matching furs to hang over the fireplace."

Brunhilde and Siegfried sat immediately. Siegfried look chagrinned. Brunhilde just looked pissed.

Turning, Dylan walked in between her two dogs, laying a hand on each of their huge heads. "This, my dears, is Cat. She is a friend. Understand?"

Brunhilde gave a soft chuff, not entirely convinced. Siegfried promptly rolled over onto his back in an invite for a belly rub.

Cat broke into laughter, completely charmed by the goofball’s antics.

Brunhilde growled.

"Brunhilde!"

Bending at the waist, Dylan stared into Brunhilde’s intelligent eyes. The dog’s eyes shifted away, then back again.

"Jealousy doesn’t become you. Deal with it."

Brunhilde growled again, softly.

"I mean it."

After a long moment, Brunhilde gave an almost human sigh, and dropped gracefully down to her belly, resting her head on her paws.

"Good girl." Dylan looked up to see Cat’s concerned gaze. Her expression softened. "Don’t worry. She won’t hurt you."

"That’s not what I’m worried about," Cat replied, looking at Brunhilde, and her mistress, in turn.

Dylan’s eyebrow rose.

Cat blushed. "I…um…I don’t want to come between you, that’s all. It’s obvious you mean everything to her."

"And she means everything to me." This was said with a truly loving look toward the ‘she’ in question. A look that was returned with equal emotion. "She’ll be alright."

Siegfried whined, still waiting for his belly rub.

Cat looked at Dylan, a question in her eyes.

"Go ahead," Dylan said, laughing. "He won’t shut up until you do."

Cat approached the dog slowly, squatted down, and began to rub his warm, soft belly, to his extreme delight and appreciative groans.

A moment later, she was almost launched into orbit by the feel of a large, wet, and very cold nose pressing on the inside of her free arm. Brunhilde’s slightly grudging, slightly beseeching gaze caused the laughter to well up again, and Cat gave into it, reaching up and scratching the large dog gently behind the ears.

"Alright, you two. Enough with the hedonism. Inside."

All thoughts of pleasure forgotten, the two dogs immediately rose to their feet and trotted into the house. Dylan and Cat followed close behind.

"Wow…" was all Cat could say as she entered the grand residence. Huge, airy and open, it was as if someone had stepped into her dreams and brought them to life.

Dylan looked over her shoulder, smiling as she noticed Cat’s rapt wonder. "I’d give you the nickel tour, but we’re running late. Feel free to look around while I scrounge up those damn papers. Be back in a minute."

As Dylan jogged up the stairs, her faithful companions only a step behind, Cat took immediate advantage of the invitation and walked to the first thing that caught her attention: a wall made entirely of glass, which looked out onto the back of the huge, sprawling grounds.

In the foreground, down a slight hill, sat a sparkling, and quite large, in-ground pool which gave the illusion it was being fed from the artfully created waterfall set into the hill. At the base of the waterfall, Cat could see a good-sized Jacuzzi just waiting for some lucky person to immerse herself within its warm, swirling waters.

Behind the pool, brightly lit against the darkening night, was a large, clay floored basketball court.

"So this is how the other half lives," she said softly, her breath slightly fogging the glass in front of her. "Niiiice."

Turning away from the window, Cat looked over the large living room. Dylan’s tastes apparently ran toward modern. Leather and chrome dominated the huge, open structure. Tasteful, colorful, and no doubt frightfully expensive pieces of abstract art decorated the otherwise barren walls.

In one corner sat the mother of all entertainment centers. Cat got pleasant chills just looking at it. Part of her, the electronics geek that was all her father, itched to dig in and play, to see just what all that sleek metal and glass and fabric was capable of.

Her fantasies were interrupted at the sound of Dylan’s quiet return. She turned, quite aware of the goofy look on her face. "Quite a place you’ve got here."

Dylan shrugged. "It’ll do." Then she smiled. "Glad you like it."

"Like it? A girl could fall in love here, you know."

Dylan’s eyes sparkled. "She could, could she?"

The change in the tenor of their banter finally penetrated Cat’s hazed mind, and she froze for a moment as the words replayed in her head. Then she smiled. "Yes. She could."

The two stared at one another, separated only by the silence of emotions a hair away from being revealed.

Dylan’s cell-phone shattered the intensity of the moment into a million shining fragments. "What?" she barked the second the phone was up to her ear.

"Testy, testy!" Manny’s voice was its usual annoyance. "You planning on getting those papers to me before Chanukah, sweetheart, or am I going to have to send the nice Nike people to come down and collect them personally?"

"Call me sweetheart again, Manny, and I’ll break you like the slimy little twig you are."

Cat’s eyes widened, not realizing that this passed for normal banter between the two.

"Ooooo, someone’s got a touch of the PMS, nu?"

"Cut it, Manny. I’m headed out the door now. I’ll be there in ten."

"Ta, sweetheart."

Growling, Dylan snapped the phone closed and shoved it back in its place.

"Everything okay?" Cat asked cautiously.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Dylan forced herself to calm. She smiled. "Never better. Let’s get outta here before my head explodes. Brains are a bitch to get out of leather."

*******

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to ESPN’s annual coverage of the Children’s Cancer Initiative Pro-Am Three on Three tourney. I’m Bob Haskell, here with my partner Jan Wainright in sunny California to cover what promises to be an interesting and fast-paced weekend of athletic competition"

"You’re right about that, Bob. Especially after yesterday’s surprise announcement which shocked the sporting world and caused tickets, already going briskly, to completely sell out in just a little over twenty minutes."

"And that surprise, Jan ,is of course the announcement that Dylan Lambert, the Goddess of Women’s Professional Basketball, will be competing in this year’s tournament."

"It certainly surprised me, Bob."

"I’m sure it did, Jan. Now, let’s get to the particulars. Basketball isn’t the only sport being played during this four day event."

"You’re right, Bob. Some of the teams that are competing in the basketball arena are also going to be competing on an entirely different court. Made of sand."

"Yes, two on two beach volleyball will be on the schedule for the first two days of this weekend athletic gala, and we have several interesting matchups to be seen here today."

In the tunnel into the small, but packed, stadium, Dylan was sitting calmly on a stool, adjusting her new knee brace before dropping her lose nylon windbreaker type pants over it. Crossing her arms over her knee, she watched with amusement as Cat either paced back and forth as if trying to wear a hole through the cement floor, or jumped in place like a demented kangaroo, swinging her arms in large, looping circles.

"You’ll have had bigger crowds at your high school games," Dylan commented softly as Cat stopped jumping and began pacing again.

"Tell that to my stomach," Cat retorted, reaching the wall and turning to pace again. "It’s got butterflies the size of chickens in there and they’re complaining about the accommodations."

Laughing softly, Dylan stood. Approaching Cat, she gathered her in for a close, warm hug. "It’ll be alright. You’ll see."

Cat burrowed in close, enjoying the scent of Dylan, which was now enhanced by sweet-smelling coconut oil. "Mmm."

Chuckling, Dylan pressed a kiss to the crown of Cat’s head, then released her, smiling down at the younger woman, eyes soft and clear.

Their quiet moment was interrupted by the sounds of their opponents approaching. One was immediately recognizable as Lany Simmons, a tall, rather stocky pro golfer who was known for out hitting the men from their own tees. Her partner was a shorter, spry Olympic miler, Mary Talb. Dylan and Cat nodded to the women, who nodded back in turn and exited the tunnel into the sunshine beyond.

"Shall we?" Dylan asked.

"Let’s get this over with," Cat grumbled.

The PA speaker came to life, announcing their names. Both women slipped sunglasses over their eyes and stepped into the warm, sunny day.

The crowd was immense, and growing. There wasn’t an inch left in the stands. Fans stood along the sides and back, cheering wildly as they entered the court. Dylan’s name was chanted with such ecstatic force that Cat feared for a moment that a riot was about to erupt.

She looked around in awe, eyes wide, and realized, for the first time, just a little of what it was like to be Dylan Lambert.

"Dear God," she whispered, holding a hand to the pulse hammering in her throat. She found herself fighting down a sudden, almost overwhelming and totally unexpected attack of claustrophobia as the crowd seemed to grow and swell before her wide, staring eyes. Voices and faces merged into one writhing and almost malevolent entity, swelling toward her as if intent on ripping out her very heart and displaying it on a trophy stand on their collective mantle.

A warm hand brushing lightly against her shoulder grounded her slightly, and she looked up, the extent of her anguish mirrored in the lenses of Dylan’s sunglasses.

"How in the world do you handle this?" she croaked, voice as dry as the sand beneath her feet.

Dylan looked up, sparing the immense crowd a casual glance, which further sparked their mania, before looking back to Cat. A broad shoulder lifted briefly in a casual shrug. "Just something you get used to, I suppose."

"I’d never get used to this," Cat said, stopping an internal shiver from becoming an external one. "Never in a million years."

The corner of Dylan’s mouth quirked. "Oh, you will. It won’t be long before it’s your name they’re shouting like this."

"Not like this," Cat replied with conviction. "Never like this."

Dylan relaxed her lips into a full smile. "We’ll see." She touched Cat’s shoulder again, long fingers surreptitiously stroking the soft flesh there. "C’mon. They can’t start without us."

Cat forced her legs to move to the small seating area that was reserved for them. The screaming crowd was still much too close to the court for her tastes, but a long line of beefy security guards seemed intent on keeping the writhing mass away from the players.

Relaxing a bit, she smoothed the tuck of her tight, sweat-wick shirt into her black and purple running shorts and squatted down to stretch her still tense muscles, her back to the crowd.

Her routine was interrupted by an almost sexual moan from the crowd behind her. Turning her head, she froze, and only barely saved herself from an ignominious fall to her backside as her eyes, thankfully hidden behind the dark glasses, widened to the size of saucers.

Dylan had just stripped away her black windbreaker sweats to reveal the outfit of a professional beach volleyball player. Black microshorts, tiny enough to pass for a thong, covered her pelvis and the very tops of her ropy, muscled thighs. Above, she wore a snug sports-bra type top, ending just below her breasts and displaying the cut, banded and rippling muscles of her abdomen, shoulders and arms, accentuated by her deep, almost black tan.

Whatever moisture had managed to return to Cat’s mouth was gone in that instant, as she felt a wave of desire, far eclipsing anything she had ever known, pass over her, coating her in its liquid heat.

Dylan flashed her a grin, and Cat, though she never knew exactly how, managed to pull herself upright on legs filled with pudding. As Dylan passed close by, Cat fixed her with a look. "You expect me to actually play now?"

Dylan’s grin broadened.

"Volleyball, I mean."

Dylan chuckled. "C’mon, Shortchange. Let’s show em what we’ve got."

"I think you’re showing them plenty already," Cat replied, not surprised at all to hear the note of jealousy threading its way up through her vocal cords. She could literally feel the eyes of the crowd crawling over her partner. Shaking her head to break the spell, she resolutely trailed after Dylan. "Well," she remarked to the air at large as she assumed her place behind the service line, "at least I’m not nervous anymore."

*******

The whistle blew.

"Point and game, Lambert and Hodges, 15-1."

After shaking their opponents’ hands, Dylan and Cat strolled back to their shaded nook to the enthusiastic cheers of the crowd. Dylan grabbed a water bottle from an overly-attentive young line boy and chugged it down. Cat rubbed the sand from her body with a towel, and stared daggers at said line boy until he took the hint and feasted his eyes somewhere safer.

Like Afghanistan.

The game had been a walkover. Cat displayed a wicked, curving overhand serve no-one—including herself—knew she had, and Dylan was, quite simply, Dylan. Their opponents never had a chance, though they gave it a game effort.

The tournament was a modified round robin format, with the six teams broken up into two three-team groups. Each team would play the others in its group in a one game to fifteen winner take all match. Then the winners of each group would play one another for the right to face the world’s top professional two-woman beach volleyball team.

And that right would likely come with a royal butt-whipping.

Today, Thursday, was reserved for the preliminary rounds. Friday would host the group winner face off and the "championship" game against the pros.

The weekend itself was reserved for the true showpiece of the tournament, the annual three-on-three basketball pro-am.

The fans, however, were enjoying the preliminary "festivities".

And if the beer vendor, who was so intent on ripping the rest of Dylan’s scant clothing off with his eyes that he walked into a support post and was currently wearing his product, was any indication, volleyball would be back next year for certain.

Cat looked over at Dylan, who was sitting regally in her canvas chair, looking totally cool and unruffled, and felt a brief stab of envy. Cat herself was hot, sweaty, sore, and had a pound of sand in places where sand had no place being.

She was also a hormonal wreck. It was bad enough seeing the woman of her dreams half clothed and facing her. But when Cat stood behind the service line and looked at that perfectly sculpted back, legs longer than the Nile, and a posterior worthy of the envy of every god, past, present and future, her mind was insisting on sending her images that would make a streetwalker blush.

People wondered where her wicked serve came from. She didn’t.

Sexual frustration, plain and simple.

And the very object of that frustration was walking toward her, oiled, sleek, and mouth-wateringly gorgeous.

"Ready?"

Any more ready and I’d explode into a million pieces right in front of the crowd.

She didn’t say that out loud, of course.

At least, she didn’t think she did.

By the look on Dylan’s face, however, there was a distinct possibility that her thoughts had been well and truly read.

Cat rose with a sigh. It was going to be a very long day.

*******

Leaning her shoulder and head against the cool cement of the tunnel, Cat more or less patiently waited for Dylan to finally break away from every Tom, Dick, and Harriet who clamored for her much valued attention. She’d faced the press and crowds for a small eternity herself, but it was obvious exactly to whom they all paid homage. Which suited Cat just fine. The crowd gave her a major case of the willies.

She smiled, though, remembering one small girl, her hair all gone from chemotherapy treatments, and how she’d pushed with determination through the writhing mass, Cat’s rookie card in her small hand. Her right leg ended in a prosthesis, which made her determination all the more fierce and, to Cat, exceptional. The young girl had given her a shy, gap-toothed grin, and held up her card to be signed. Cat was, the girl said, her absolute favorite player in the whole world.

Smitten, and damn near tears, she’d signed the card, knowing that the pure, undiluted joy of that simple act would be something she would always remember.

She’d also posed for pictures with the girl, whose name was Randy, and they’d talked until her mother led her away, smiling, waving, and holding the signed card to her chest as if it was the most priceless of treasures.

Coming back to the present, Cat smiled, shook her head, and wiped the mist from her eyes.

They’d won all three of their games, of course, though the last game was a bit close for awhile. An Olympic high jumper had paired with the number three ranked tennis player to give them a match worth sweating for. In the end, however, they’d managed a 15-8 victory, and the crowd, ever appreciative of their efforts, nearly fell in on itself with joy. Cat guessed, privately, that most of that joy centered on the fact that they’d just been granted another day in which to see their Goddess in her cocktail napkin ensemble.

Cat chuckled a little at the thought.

A shower, cold and stinging, had done wonders for her disposition, if not exactly for her state of cleanliness. She could still feel fine granules of sand etching their way into her skin, and she shifted slightly, shaking one sore and aching leg to release some of the irritation.

"Come on, Dylan," she murmured in the still air.

A tall shadow fell across her, and she smiled, looking up. Dylan was dressed in casual jeans and a crisp white T-shirt that accentuated her muscular build. Her hair was wet, shining, and slicked back away from her face, bringing her chisled features into even greater definition.

Cat felt the effects of the cold shower evaporate in an instant as another surge of warmth rushed through her body, causing a distinct weakness in her legs once again.

"Oh, what you do to me," she breathed.

Looking down at the smaller woman, her hair still damp and slightly curling from her shower, her green eyes darkening with desire, Dylan knew that the feeling was entirely mutual. She smiled and held out a hand. "Let’s get outta here."

*******

Relaxing against the soft leather seat of Dylan’s rental, Cat looked on as their hotel passed slowly by on the right.

"Um…Dylan?"

"Mm?"

"Our hotel’s going bye-bye."

Dylan chuckled. "I figured we could use some time away from the press. It’ll be a madhouse there. I don’t know about you, but I’m about interviewed out for the day."

"True, but I was kinda hoping for another shot at a shower. I’ve got sand in places even I don’t want to know about."

Dylan chuckled again, causing Cat to discover yet again how much she liked the sound of her laughter.

"Trust me."

"I do." Cat was smiling, but her eyes were dead serious.

Dylan’s gaze softened, and she took her eyes away from the road long enough to lift a hand to brush against the incredibly soft skin of Cat’s cheek. "Thanks," she replied softly.

"No problem," Cat replied in an equal tone.

As Dylan returned her attention to the highway, Cat rested her head against the seat, feeling the ghost of Dylan’s touch deep in the marrow of her bones.

*******

"Wake up, sleepyhead. We’re here."

Cat blinked her eyes open, unaware that she’d even fallen asleep. Stretching stiff and aching muscles, she groaned softly, and ran a hand over her face to clear sleep-hazy eyes.

"Where’s here?" she burred, voice hoarse from her unintended nap. "And how long have I been out?"

"About forty five minutes," Dylan replied, coming around to the passenger’s side and opening the door for Cat. Reaching down, she eased the younger woman from the car and steadied her as she steadied herself on her aching legs.

Cat looked around, taking in a deep, bracing breath of cool, pine-scented air. "It’s dark."

"Mm. That usually happens at nighttime, yes."

That earned Dylan a stinging backhand to the midsection, which she absorbed easily as she began to lead her sleepy passenger up the long, secluded drive.

Cat’s eyes widened as a fairly large, low-slung house came into view among the towering pines. Through the huge glass windows came a flickering light that could only be a fire in the hearth. She looked over at Dylan. "I—I’m not too sure I’m much for company," she admitted softly.

Dylan raised an eyebrow. "I wasn’t aware I constituted ‘company’."

"Not you, silly. Whoever’s got the fire going. They don’t just light themselves, you know."

"Do tell," was Dylan’s droll reply.

"I’m serious, Dylan." She knew she sounded a bit whiney, but that’s what unintended naps did to her.

"So am I." Relenting a little, Dylan grasped Cat’s chilled hand. "I promise you, no one is inside this house."

Cat read the truth in the press of her hand, and nodded. Then she looked up in shock. "This is your house, isn’t it."

Dylan grinned, reaching the mailbox and pulling out several envelopes and showing them to Cat. "I sure hope so, or else I’m paying someone else’s bills."

Cat looked at the bills in amazement, then up into Dylan’s smirking eyes. "Wow. A house in Birmingham, one here. Are there any more hiding around?"

Dylan’s eyes lit with devilment. "Maybe," she said with just a hint of coyness. Then, laughing, she released Cat’s hand and reached into her pocket for the house key. Inserting it into the lock, she twisted, and swung the door wide, grasping Cat’s hand once again and escorting her inside.

"Jesus," Cat breathed, looking around at the impressive accommodations. Directly in front of her was a sunken living room with all the high tech amenities that a soul could want, fronted by an enormous fireplace that took the chill off the cool night air. "This place is gorgeous!"

"Thanks," Dylan replied, turning the recessed lighting to a soft, warm glow. "I usually spend some time up here in the off-season. My caretaker looks after it when I’m away."

"Now there’s a job I wouldn’t mind having."

Smiling, Dylan led Cat over to the large French doors, their view of the world beyond shaded by vertical blinds. "I know you were looking forward to a shower, and if you really want one there’s no problem, but I thought I might be able to interest you in this instead."

Flipping open the blinds, Dylan exposed a view of a sizable, terraced deck in the center of which was a very large Jacuzzi, lit from within and swirling and bubbling in anticipation of their visit. Next to the swirling pool was a small metal ice bucket, and inside that bucket, Cat could just see the tip of a wine bottle emerging. Two long-stemmed crystal glasses sat on a folded cloth next to the bucket, and beside them, a thin, crystal vase holding one perfect red rose.

Cat was silent for so long that Dylan began to feel a tiny sliver of uncharacteristic fear tracing its way through her belly. Looking at her partner’s shadowed profile, she softly cleared her throat. "I—um…."

Seeing a tear trail its gentle way down Cat’s cheek brought the fear out in full force. "Cat?"

Cat turned to her then, the smile on her face breathtaking in its beauty. "Thank you," she whispered before closing the minute distance between them and wrapping her arms around Dylan’s taut body. "Thank you."

After a moment of near dizziness, where total relief washed away the tide of fear, Dylan enclosed Cat in a fierce embrace, holding her as if in the holding, her own life had been spared.

They parted by mutual consent. Cupping Cat’s cheek, Dylan looked into her eyes, one thumb brushing away the lone tear that had fallen. "You’re okay," she murmured, half question, half affirmation.

Cat nodded, fingers brushing against the hand so tender on her face. Her smile was radiant, her eyes shining like emeralds under glass. Dylan was mesmerized, unable to remember her own name, let alone when or where she had ever seen such beauty before.

Taking in a deep, slow breath, she centered herself and trailed the very tips of her fingers from Cat’s cheek to her hand, smiling at the goosebumps that followed her gentle touch. Reaching out with her free hand, she flipped the lock and opened the doors, letting in cool, clean air heavy with the scent of pine. She stepped out into the night, leading Cat by the hand to the lip of the Jacuzzi.

They stopped there for a moment, still linked, as they stared up into the star-blessed sky. The moon, pregnant and ripe, smiled down on them, gilding their forms in silver and white.

Letting go a soft sigh, Dylan released Cat’s hand, facing her at an oblique angle and taking in her shining profile. Cat’s eyes were closed, face turned up to the moon as if to a lover, awaiting a kiss.

"So beautiful," Dylan breathed, reaching out to touch the silvered hair, feeling the exquisite softness against her callused fingers.

Cat turned then, and, using gentle force, brought Dylan’s lips against hers, brushing her suppleness in tribute before melding with her, tasting her heat. Dylan’s hands came naturally to Cat’s trim waist, then slid upwards against the tight pull of her shirt, feeling the warmth and the strength of the body beneath stretched out against her own.

Cat moaned softly as Dylan parted her lips, welcoming her within, tongue stroking with indescribable softness. Reaching into Cat’s hair, Dylan took control of the exquisite kiss, drawing in Cat’s bottom lip and stroking it deftly with her tongue and teeth.

It was Cat who broke first, pulling away to rest her forehead against Dylan’s broad chest, drawing in heavy, deep breaths as her heart hammered in her ears and her body raged and quaked. Dylan held her gently and close, pressing soft kisses against the crown of her hair.

Looking up, Cat gave Dylan a tremulous smile. "I….God!….That was….." Dropping her head, she groaned in frustration.

Dylan laughed softly and, after one last hug, stepped away, smiling down at the frustrated young woman. "C’mon. Let’s slow it down a little. Could I interest you in a hot soak and a little wine?"

Giving up trying to speak full sentences, Cat settled for an emphatic nod.

Without posing or pretext, Dylan unbuttoned her crisp, white shirt and casually slipped it off her broad, tanned shoulders. Long fingers made short work of the button fly of her jeans, and she slid them down the long length of her legs, stepping out and kicking them to the side with idle grace. Her undergarments were eased off, and as she straightened, she felt the weight of eyes upon her.

Standing calmly, muscles loose and relaxed, she allowed the examination, feeling the tender heat of Cat’s gaze as if she were being caressed.

"You really are a goddess," Cat whispered, in awe of the vision she was seeing. To Cat, Dylan was perfection personified, her body flawless and without compare. It truly hit her then, where she was, and who she was with. This was her hero, the woman she had looked up to for so many years, standing naked before her, inviting her glance and her touch. Her knees weakened a bit, muscles threatening an all-out rebellion, but she hung on with a tenacity deeply ingrained. She could no more look away than she could stop breathing.

If it had been within Dylan to blush, she might have done so. Instead, she gave a crooked grin and gracefully descended the steps into the Jacuzzi. Lowering herself into the molded seat, she stretched out and allowed the heated waters to swirl against her skin.

With just a bit of uncharacteristic shyness, Cat began to fumble with her own clothing, placing her T-shirt and shorts carefully on the ground beside the tub. Reaching for the clasp of her bra, she shot a look to Dylan who, thankfully, was preoccupied with opening and pouring the wine. Quickly stripping the rest of the way, she entered the tub, immersing herself to her shoulders and sliding into a seat. She couldn’t help the groan that flowed from her lips at the feel of the heated water penetrating her skin, soothing her muscles and calming her nerves.

She looked up in time to accept wine that Dylan held for her. A slight touch of their glasses, and they sipped, enjoying the dry, subtle flavor of the wine. They sat in companionable silence for a time, enjoying the soothing waters and the clear night spread out before them.

"More?" Dylan asked, noticing that Cat’s glass was very close to empty.

Cat smiled and shook her head. "It was delicious," she said, handing the glass to Dylan. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," Dylan replied, setting the glass next to her own.

Feeling an inexplicable need to be closer to Dylan, Cat slid along the seat until their thighs touched. Smiling, Dylan raised an arm, and Cat slid in closer, resting her head against one shoulder as her hand came to rest naturally against Dylan’s belly. She closed her eyes in utter contentment, happy with the world and her place in it.

The kisses started slowly, softly, trading one for another for another until they were one constant merging of lips and teeth and tongues swirling like the waters that soothed them. Emboldened by Dylan’s rising passion, Cat slid her hand up along silken skin and ridged muscle until she cupped the firm weight of one perfect breast in her hand. Dylan’s soft moan spurred her on, and she circled the pleading nipple with her thumb, then brushed directly across it.

Dylan’s response was immediate, and Cat groaned, feeling the incredibly strong body surge against her. She repeated the motion, her touches stronger and more insistent. Dylan’s mouth left hers, lips trailing against her cheeks until they found purchase on the delicate whorl of her ear, suckling in time to Cat’s caresses and causing the younger woman to forget, for a moment, what it was that she was doing as the sensations surrounded her in a molten cocoon.

"You’re so beautiful," Dylan breathed into her ear. "So absolutely, incredibly beautiful." Shifting a little, Dylan moved from Cat’s grasp, coming around to stand before her. Cat’s legs opened and Dylan slid into the space left there, looking down into a face more exquisite than any she could remember seeing.

Their lips met again with a fiery passion that neither could keep in check any longer. Hands roamed as heated flesh slipped and slid against its counterpart sparking small fires that blazed along wide open nerve endings. Dylan’s hands moved down to Cat’s narrow waist and pulled her forward until Cat was pressed tight against Dylan’s belly. Her arms bore her weight against the lip of the tub as her hips danced along a silken path, up and back and up again, feeling each band of muscle clench and relax, clench and relax, driving her higher and yet higher again.

Cat’s ankles locked around Dylan’s waist as Dylan eased her forward in a heated embrace. Their lips met again, crushing against one another, touching, teasing, tasting. One hand reached back, and Cat moaned as her ankles were unlocked; moaned again as Dylan stepped back, then cried out as the heat from Dylan’s belly was replaced by the promise of her hand cupping, pressing, caressing and finally filling her more fully and more deeply than any before her.

"Oh. Blessed God!" Dylan stilled her fingers, gritting her teeth against the incredible pleasure of the velvet embrace. Her own body was thrumming like a high tension wire and moisture flowed from her as from a river.

Then slowly her fingers moved, stroking gently and feeling Cat’s response in her very bones. Gazes met and locked as Dylan thrust slowly, strongly, drawing out until she was barely there, then sliding within, stretching and filling until Cat’s body was nothing but atoms, each holding an individual flame.

One touch of Dylan’s thumb and Cat was freed, spiraling into infinity. She cried out to the heavens, body gathering in around itself, muscles clenching so tightly that the breath was robbed from her lungs. Her toes curled, her fingers clamped tight into Dylan’s muscled, sweating back, grounding her in the only way she knew.

Slowly, gently, she felt herself coming back to earth, and her muscles relaxed as she felt the weight of her body drawing her away from her new lover’s fevered embrace.

"Not yet," Dylan growled. "Oh please, not yet."

Cat’s desire shot up again as she felt the velvet heat of Dylan pressing and gliding against her thigh. One stroke, and another, and then Dylan gasped, tipping her head forward to bury it against Cat’s shoulder as her body clenched and shook with the force of her climax. Feeling the sharp press of teeth against the tender skin of her neck, she groaned aloud and held on tightly as Dylan’s body, finally spent, came to rest against hers in a warm, and tender embrace.

******

Cat reclined back into a thick pile of blankets placed strategically by the fireplace. They were just close enough to be warm but not so close one would get overheated.

By the fire, that is.

The other thing in the room that was outstripping the warmth of the fire was currently she was placing the wine in the ice bucket after refilling their glasses.

Dylan smiled, looking over at her companion, who was now stretched out on her stomach with her face nestled in the thick down pillow. "Tired?"

"Deliciously. Thanks," Cat looked over her shoulder and winked.

Dylan placed the two glasses down by Cat’s head and then placed herself next to the younger woman’s languid, and splendidly naked, body. "Glad to hear it."

Cat rolled onto her side, facing Dylan, and running her fingers gently over dark brows. "Are you okay with this?"

"I am very okay with it. If I didn’t think we were ready for it, it wouldn’t have happened. I have amazing self control." Dylan grinned devilishly.

"Tell me about it. You’re going along all calm while I’m taking a cold shower every twenty minutes. I was starting to look like a raisin all the time. I think that type of self control is one of those skills I’ve yet to learn."

"Here’s a secret." Dylan leaned in and whispered. "I took a few cold showers too."

"Really?" For reasons she didn’t quite understand, this revelation made Cat quite happy.

"You know it. You’re hard to resist Catherine Hodges." The tall woman leaned over and kissed her companion.

Cat made an invitation by lying back during the kiss and letting Dylan follow her, gently covering her as the kiss continued. Her hands began running over Dylan’s back, massaging the warm skin under her palms. She couldn’t help but allow little moans to roll from her lips as Dylan did a masterful job of kissing down one side of her neck, across her collarbone, and up the other side. She was trembling all over by the time Dylan stopped.

College girls have nothing on you, my dear.

The thought made her shiver once again, a pleasant twinge that centered itself over the most sensitive areas of her body. And there were quite a few of those, Cat was beginning to realize.

"Ooo don’t do that." She wiggled under Dylan, trying to make better contact, though if the truth of the matter be known, she was almost sharing the taller woman’s skin already. Sweat that came from far more than the warmth of the fire lubricated their bodies’ touch, and the feeling was more erotic than anything Cat had ever experienced before.

"What?"

"Don’t stop. I’ve waited too long for this for you to tease me." She kissed a lovely warm expanse of neck near her lips.

"Is that so?" Dylan couldn’t help but tease her lover a little now that she knew she shouldn’t.

"Yes, please." Cat wasn’t above begging, at least not were Dylan was concerned. She had decided months ago that she’d crawl ten miles over broken glass just to sweat in her shadow; so begging for her touch was no big strain.

"You know," Dylan placed her mouth gently on Cat’s shoulder. "I have a big, soft bed upstairs that I would love to get you into."

"Okay," she managed to whimper as Dylan rose and extended a hand to her.

"Come on Sweetheart."

*******

Morning came far too early as far as Cat was concerned. She pulled the blanket over her head as the morning sun began to filter through the plate glass window. She rolled over to curl up next to Dylan, only to find her tall bedmate gone.

Under normal circumstances Cat would have been panicked to wake up in a strange bed alone after spending such a passionate night with a woman, but not this time. This time she felt nothing but completely satisfied and very, very, well loved.

She pushed up from the bed to find a long, blue terrycloth robe draped over the headboard’s large post. Smiling, she got up and pulled the robe on, having to cuff the sleeves several times and still she looked like a child wearing an adult’s clothing. Opening the bedroom door, she smiled at the scent of breakfast being cooked wafted up the steps. She followed her nose directly to the kitchen to see Dylan, in shorts and a tank top, sans bra, gliding to the music playing over the recessed speakers in the kitchen.

"You’re in a good mood this morning," Cat offered as she stepped into the kitchen.

"Oh I am." Dylan graced her with a brilliant smile as she lifted eggs from the frying pan onto Cat’s plate. "Juice in the fridge, would you mind?"

"Absolutely not." She crossed to the large stainless steel gourmet refrigerator. Opening the door she was surprised to find all the fixings for a breakfast fit for any self-respecting carnivore. "Have you come over to the dark side?"

Dylan chuckled, "No, but there’s no need for you to starve while we’re here. I even went out and got cookware so we could feed you properly."

"No bacon in your skillet, right?"

"Well," Dylan blushed a bit and just shook her head, refusing to say anything else.

Cat dropped it and poured the orange juice into two glasses that had been placed on the counter. "You’re very sweet, you know that."

"Yeah, I know, but don’t tell anyone, okay. I need people to think I’m a stone bitch."

Cat crossed her heart as she placed the glasses and the silverware on the table. "I promise. Not a word to anyone. Your secret is safe with me."

"Good." Dylan winked and placed Cat’s plate on the table. "Toast?"

"Please."

"Let me guess." Dylan took a long appraising look at her lover. "Grape jelly."

"And you read minds too. Impressive." The blonde chuckled as she took a seat and waited for her companion to join her.

"No," Dylan replied from behind the fridge door. "You just look like a grape jelly kinda girl to me."

"I’m fond of whip cream and chocolate sauce too."

Dylan muffled a curse as she hit her head on the frame. She peeked over the top of the door. "I can certainly get some later."

Cat just smiled as Dylan joined her at the table. The blonde reached out and took Dylan’s hand, causing the woman to look at her. "Thank you."

"For?" Dylan asked, using her free hand to pour them both coffee.

"Last night. It was wonderful."

"I agree," she leaned over and kissed Cat gently. "Thank you too."

As they ate, Cat’s mind began to replay the events of the previous evening and after letting her mind wander to far from home a small moan escaped her lips.

"Excuse me?" Dylan smiled at the far away look in Cat’s eyes.

"Oh, well," Cat stumbled over her excuse knowing she’d been caught. "I was umm…well…hell Dylan, you make love to a woman like the world is ending and you don’t expect her to have flashbacks?"

The brunette glanced at the wall clock, "Well, we don’t have time for a complete replay right now, but would you care to join me for a shower?"

"I’d love to."

*******

Dylan’s bathroom, like everything about Dylan was a religious experience. It was large; brass and Italian marble accented every surface. The shower stall wasn’t really a stall at all but another room all to itself with benches on three of the four walls and three showerheads beaming directly into the center.

Cat entered after Dylan and watched as she moved to a small panel by the door and punched in a few numbers on the keypad. "Your shower has an alarm system?"

"No, this is to adjust the temperature and pressure."

"You’re kidding. Where in the hell did you find that?" She peeked over Dylan’s shoulder.

"Oh you can’t get them on the open market, but I had a friend in college that I helped tutor through English so he could get is degree in engineering and he created this as a gift to me."

"Well, aren’t you special?" She kidded as the water came on at the perfect pressure and the perfect temperature.

"As a matter of fact I am." Dylan teased as she pulled Cat under the water and kissed her quite seriously. Her hands roamed all over Cat’s flesh which was rapidly becoming quite heat, although she wasn’t sure if it was the water or their close proximity to each other

"Mmmm," Cat hummed as her body tried the get closer Dylan. "I thought we didn’t have time for this."

"No, I said we didn’t have time for a replay of last night. This, we have time for." Dylan pulled a towel down from a cabinet on the wall nearest the door of the shower. Dropping it on the floor she knelt, slowly kissing her way down Cat’s body.

"Oh, I need to sit." Cat gasped as a kiss landed on the warm, supersensitive flesh of her inner thigh.

Dylan carefully deposited her lover on the redwood bench; all the while her hands massaged her skin and her lips took tender nips from the sweet skin, causing the smaller women to jerk and wiggle as her breath came in short, hard pants.

"Dylan!"

Mischievous blue eyes looked up from their place just between Cat’s legs. "Yes?"

"Damn it! If you don’t stop teasing me, I’ll be forced to kill you."

"As you wish."

"Oh…my…" words were lost to the steam and the sound of the running water as Dylan, did indeed stop teasing her lover and began her explorations in earnest.

"GOD!" Cat screamed as her torso doubled over to cover Dylan’s dark hair. Both women stopped moving and Dylan felt her own heart rate returning to normal, as she listened to Cat’s gasping breath sounds, mixed with nearly sub-verbal whimpers and moans.

"You okay?" The tall woman asked softly, as she help Cat sit up on the bench and looked into her eyes.

"I’m good," she agreed immediately and nodded. "That was just un…un…intense."

"Can you stand up?"

"Are you nuts? Why would I want to do that?"

Dylan chuckled, "We need to shower and get going to the tournament?"

"Oh yeah," blonde brows came together in remembrance. "That charity thing we’re doing."

"Yeah," Dylan pulled Cat to her feet. "That charity thing we’re doing."

******

Cat bent over to retie her shoestring as they prepared for championship game. She and Dylan had beat the rest of the teams handily and were now "honored" by going up against true professional volleyball players. Neither of them harbored a dream of actually beating them, but since this was for charity, they were going to give the crowd a damn good show.

Glancing up in time to see Dylan bend over to pick up a towel, Cat found herself perversely pleased that she now knew exactly what was under the tight fitting black shorts.

Hell, I’ve fantasized about them often enough. And ooh baby isn’t reality better than any fantasy I could have conjured up!

She had to work hard to stifle an evil chuckle.

Now that they had taken the ‘big’ step in their relationship, she knew it was more important than ever to make sure no one else made the connection. Being out herself was one thing, but unintentionally outing her deeply closeted lover was another thing entirely, and something she prayed fervently she would never trip over.

Dear God, Cat! What in the hell have you gotten yourself into here? Were you thinking at all?

No, thinking at that point had been the last thing on her mind.

Jesus.

Well, the best thing she could do for now was to take each day as it came. Spending every waking moment looking for potential landmines would have her an emotional wreck in no time and ruin whatever shot she and Dylan had at making this work. And having had a taste of Dylan’s passion convinced her that she wanted to make this work very dearly indeed.

The ref called the four players forward and they exchanged handshakes and grins.

"Hey, Big D, it’s good to see you up and playing again. We missed ya." Jeri Jorgensen was a six foot Swede with a mop of bone white hair and a buff, tanned body. Cat looked on, a bit stunned, as Dylan grabbed the young woman in a tight hug before releasing her and turning to Jeri’s companion.

"Hortensia."

The woman in question, a drop-dead gorgeous green-eyed Spaniard, gave a smile that could only be described as predatory. "Dylan," she all but purred. "How wonderful to see you again."

One of those landmines had just buried itself at Cat’s feet, and she was finding it hard to resist the impulse to up and bitch-slap the woman into next month for staring at Dylan the way she was. Dylan, to her credit, ignored the unsubtle advances, deferred the hug Hortensia was seemingly desperate to make, and forced the woman to settle for a firm handshake instead.

Cat congratulated herself on keeping a pleasant expression on her face, and keeping herself from crushing the woman’s hand in her own when it was extended for her to clasp. Nodding to both players, she turned and trotted to her side of the court to begin her warm-ups.

As she stretched in the warm sun, she watched as both Dylan and her opponents removed their shoes to play barefoot. She knew logically it was the best thing to do, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. There was something about sand between her toes that made her shiver.

Taking the bottle of sunscreen offered by Dylan, she applied it to her face, forehead and shoulders. Tossing the bottle back to Dylan, she caught a small hand towel, wiped her greasy mitts and tucked it into the waistband of her shorts.

The coin was tossed and Dylan took the serving line to start the game. She waited for Cat to get into position and, after a brief second of looking at her partner’s butt, she sent the ball over the net and the game was on.

Dylan and Cat found an easy rhythm in the game, working together to try and beat their opponents. Cat, of course, had special motivation, wanting to wipe the coy little grin from Hortensia’s beestung lips, and when the much taller woman went up for a spike, she saw her opportunity. Using every millimeter of her jumping ability, she timed her block perfectly and gave her opponent a facial courtesy of the volleyball. She turned quickly before Hortensia could see her expression, though Dylan caught it and gave her that cute little raised eyebrow of hers before retrieving the ball as it rolled under the net.

At that time, they had been, surprisingly, leading by three points, but Cat’s little maneuver was all it took to make the professionals step it up into overdrive, showing one and all why they were the World Champs for three years running.

In the end, while it wasn’t a rout, Cat and Dylan took their drubbing in stride. There was nothing but good cheer as they congratulated each other and took the time to go to the sidelines and sign autographs for the clamoring fans. Dylan looked to Cat, smiled and winked, giving the younger woman a very silly, happy feeling all over.

They cleaned up from the game, showering and changing from beach volleyball clothes into relaxed dress for a charity auction party that was being hosted in honor of the guests of the event.

As they entered into the hotel where the party was being held, they could hear the loud music from the ballroom before they even got close. There was no doubt it was going to be a long night.

"Ready?" Dylan asked as she straightened the collar on Cat’s polo shirt.

"Sure. Am I allowed to have a drink, Coach?"

"One, little one."

"Is that a short joke?"

"Not unless you want it to be."

"I need a really good nickname for you. Nothing like Stretch or Stilts…"

"Stilts?"

"Yeah," Cat’s eyes narrowed playfully. "Way too overused. I’ll find something."

"I’m sure you will." Placing her hand gently in the small of the blonde’s back, she guided them toward the party. "Oh did you bring that envelope I asked you to grab at the house?"

Fishing it out of her back pocket she handed it to Dylan. "What is it?"

"We’re auctioning you off as a love slave."

"You better plan on bidding high."

"I don’t know if I can afford you."

"Thanks." Cat’s smile beamed as they entered the party and were immediately swallowed up by the crowd.

*******

Dylan turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open for Cat. "Tired?"

"Dead on my feet. God, that was worse than any practice."

"I’ll have to revamp my practice plan."

"How about just forgetting I said that." Cat slumped down on the couch, kicking, off her sneakers and rubbing her feet. "The other guys will kill me if they think you changed anything because of me."

Dylan smiled, tossing her keys to the small table by the door. "Tea?"

"Perfect."

As Dylan wandered off to the kitchen Cat got up and slowly followed, stretching sore tired muscles. "Who knew a pair of season tickets for the team would go for so much money? I think that’s great."

"Well, it’s partly because of you. You’ve really helped turn the team around. I still think we would have gotten more if we’d auctioned you off."

"Please." Cat dismissed as she took a seat on a stool at the breakfast nook. "I did get hit on tonight."

"I know."

"How could you know? You were clear across the room. You got eyes in the back of your head or something?"

A dark brow arched, "How long have we been working together? You have to ask that question?"

"All right, so I’m using up my yearly allotment of stupid in one night. It’s been a long weekend."

"Yeah it has," she stepped closer and kissed Cat gently on the lips. "But it’s been one of the best of my life."

Cat smiled, again, completely charmed. "Really? Thanks."

"You’re welcome."

"Besides, I kinda figured our little friend Hortensia was a little too busy undressing you with her eyes, mind, teeth, and assorted other bodyparts for you to even notice my fawning fans." Cat grinned. "Old flame?"

Dylan snorted. "Hardly, though not for lack of trying."

Cat shot her a look. "Not on your part, I hope."

"Are you kidding? I’ve got standards, kiddo."

"Whew! I hoped as much." That earned Cat a smack to the belly, which she laughingly absorbed. "So, is it a story I want to hear?"

Dylan shrugged. "Not much of one, I’m afraid. She’s set herself up as the Holy Grail in the circle jerk we call Professional Dyke Drama."

"Holy Grail?"

"Yup," Dylan replied, sipping her water. "The ultimate prize to which every up and coming baby dyke in pro-sports wants to attain."

"Ahh," Cat said, nodding. "And you failed to show proper obeisance, and therefore committed a grave sin."

"The gravest," Dylan deadpanned.

"And your penance is being chased around by a gorgeous woman who wants to make love to you in a variety of ways."

"Hey, some penances are harsher than others." Dylan sobered. "Seriously, though, I’m just lucky she doesn’t try to out me. Though it would spell the end for her if she did. Too many of us are still closeted, and she knows that. It’s what keeps her bread buttered."

"Damn," Cat breathed. "I had no idea internal politics were so…so…."

"Incestuous?"

"That’ll do for a start, yeah."

"Eh," Dylan shrugged again, "you get used to the drama after awhile. I just try to stay out of it all."

"I think I’ll take that advice, thank you very much."

The two shared a quiet laugh.

" Hey weren’t you supposed to call your folks?"

"Right. Can I…"

"Right there," she pointed to the wall as she began steeping the tea. "Or there’s one in the living room if you want more privacy."

"Privacy? With my folks, surely you jest." Cat picked the cordless up and dialed the number, smiling when her mother answered.

"Hello?"

"Hi Mom, I’m making my promised call for the weekend."

"And how is your weekend going sweetheart."

Cat grinned like, well, the cat that ate the canary. "Dreamy."

"That good. Well tell me all about it."

"Nah, some things should never be said to your mother. Let’s just say that I’m having a great weekend." She looked at Dylan and smiled. "One of the best of my life. Of course we still have the three on three to go."

Dylan sat the tea on the counter for her companion then leaned against the opposite one as she sipped from her own steaming mug.

"The event has been great, we’ve already raised like forty thousand dollars or something."

"Wonderful, when will you be home?"

"Day after tomorrow. Coach and I are going to kick their butts tomorrow before we head out."

"Oh," her mother paused in that ‘motherly’ way. "You’re with Coach Lambert?"

"Yeah, she had to stand in last minute."

"Well then I’m sure you’re in good hands."

It was all Cat could do to keep from one, choking on her tongue and two, bursting out laughing. "I’m fine Mom. We’re having a great time."

"When are you coming home for a visit?"

"In a couple weeks I hope. I should have a break when I can slip in for a day or two. Listen I need to go, give dad and the heathens my love."

"Love you Catherine, be good."

"Love you too Mom. Bye."

Cat hung up the phone and slowly turned to Dylan. "We’ll she said she’s sure I’m in good hands with you."

"Truer words were never spoken."

"And she told me to be good."

"So much for my plans for the rest of the evening."

"Now wait just a minute. I can still be," she paused and flashed a seductive smile. "Good. She did not define what kind of good."

"Oh I like the way you think."

******

Cat was lying in Dylan’s arms, absolutely, completely, and totally satisfied. She was right on the verge of slipping into a very content sleep when she realized that Dylan wasn’t relaxing the way she had hoped.

"What’s wrong?"

"Huh? Oh nothing, just thinking."

"About tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"Nervous?"

"No, I don’t think so."

Cat rose up and looked at her lover. "You don’t think so? What kind of answer is that? Come on, it’s me. Be honest."

"It’s not so much that I’m nervous nervous. I’m just hoping that my knee will hold and I won’t dump myself on my ass in front of ten thousand people."

"Are you having second thoughts?"

"No, definitely not that, though I’ll admit to wondering if I’ll come off as rusty as I feel."

"This from the woman who runs us ragged during practice?"

Dylan chuckled, pulling the blonde back down and kissing the top of her head. "Big difference between running you losers ragged and stepping back out on the court in front of ten thousand screaming maniacs."

"Then just pretend you’re running your losers ragged. Is there anything I can do to help? You know I’ve got your back on this or I wouldn’t have asked you to play with me."

"You’ve got a lot of faith."

"You know it. You are the best female basketball player I have ever seen. Let alone had the privilege to work with. You are the best. I hope at the end of my career, I can say I was half as good as you. We are going to go out there tomorrow and kick their ever loving butts."

"Oh man you are so good for my ego."

"That’s nice to know, but that has nothing to do with it, Dylan. You are so talented and such a wonderful person I don’t know how you can even be sweating this."

Dylan sighed, then shook off the momentary blues. "Just chalk it up to pre-game jitters."

"You?!?"

"I am human, Cat," Dylan replied, laughing softly. "Even the Goddess has been known to blow her breakfast before a really big game."

"You know, that’s not exactly the image I want to have of my hero," Cat teased.

"And you, Ms Nerves of Steel, never once were anything but cool as a cucumber before a championship game."

"Well…"

"Thought so."

This brought a grin to Cat’s lips as she rubbed her hand over Dylan’s stomach. "So are you sleepy?"

"With that hand roaming around like that, are you crazy?"

"Probably a little. I mean this is kinda crazy isn’t it. It could ruin us both."

"It won’t. We won’t let it." Dylan rolled over and smiled down at her lover. "I promise."

No further words needed to be said.

*******

The morning had dawned clear and bright, and Kimberly McKessin was about as high as it was possible to get without benefit of illegal substances. Chosen as one of the top ten fund raisers for this year’s charity games, Kimberly had drawn the Badgers out of a hat and had been quite content with the selection. Others had laughed at the stocky young woman, betting that she’d play all of one game before getting knocked out of the tournament by any one of the "better" teams participating.

And then they had announced Chaney’s injury.

And her replacement.

And the laughing stock had, overnight, become the envy of the neighborhood. Oh, the offers they’d tried to tempt her with when they’d learned; offers that made the shy young woman blush, then redden with a different sort of emotion when she heard them whispering behind their hands that she’d somehow known, that she’d rigged a game she wasn’t even sure she wanted to participate in. She’d held her tongue, though, as was her wont, and faced her tormenters with a serene smile that made them question her mental acuity.

Inside, though, was a different story. Inside, she was screaming and laughing and dancing a jig to shame the most devout Irish lad. Not only was she being given the chance to play beside her favorite active player, Catherine Hodges, but now…The Goddess. She’d pinched herself several times since the announcement, and her bruises were the proof that she wasn’t dreaming.

And now, finally, was the day of reckoning. The day she would finally get to live out her dreams.

She looked down at her belly as it made an ominous rumbling noise. Her face paled, and with a mumbled "shit!", she turned and ran for the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

******

Stepping out of the bathroom, Dylan wiped her mouth with the corner of the towel slung over her shoulder.

"I thought you only did that before big games," Cat commented, trying to quell a smirk that was just begging to form at the corners of her mouth.

"What? Brush my teeth?"

Cat’s smart return logjammed in her throat as Dylan flung the towel away, giving the younger woman a full, glorious view of her lover in tight black spandex. The nearly knee-length biker-style pants rode smooth on Dylan’s heavily muscled thighs, and the vision started up a steel drum band in Cat’s chest.

"Earth to Cat," Dylan said, laughing. "You in there, darlin?"

"I…." With difficulty, Cat swallowed through the desert that had taken up residence in her mouth. She lifted her eyes, only to be confronted with Dylan’s black sports bra covered chest. "Um…." She blinked. "Do we have something we’re supposed to be doing today?"

Dylan’s laughter richened as she closed the distance between them and gathered Cat into a warm hug before separating just enough to place a very sexy kiss on her lover’s delicious lips. "Unfortunately, we do. Although…" Her eyes brightened as she bent slightly, and before Cat knew it, she was cradled in two very powerful arms. "It occurs to me that I’ve neglected to teach you some very important pre-game rituals."

Lesson time was on, and this particular student proved to be a very apt, and interested, pupil.

*******

"Dylan?"

"Mmm?" Dylan didn’t look up as she fiddled with the new brace on her knee. Longer, tighter, and more complicated than the one she’d worn during the volleyball tournament, she knew it would take a good bit of getting used to. To be truthful, though, the brace wasn’t what was keeping her eyes from her partner. No, that would belong to the fact that if she looked up and saw Cat’s sleepy, languid form just barely hidden by the sheet she’d thrown over the smaller woman, there would be more than five thousand pissed off fans and one outraged boss calling for her head, because they’d never make the tournament.

God, what Cat did to her. There was something about the way they came together that made her feel in ways she’d never felt before. That thought disturbed her on so many levels that she didn’t even know where to begin examining it. After a moment, she sighed, putting the problem on a back shelf in her mind to be mulled over later, when the time was right. Finally she looked up, unable to stop the smile that spread, unbidden, across her face.

"You were asking?"

"Oh." Cat blinked. "Yeah. I was wondering if that was one of your regular pre-game rituals." She said it with a hint of a tease, but Dylan could tell the question itself was a serious one.

"Sometimes," was her honest reply.

"Oh." After a minute, she smiled. "Well, I’ll definitely be looking forward to helping you out with those rituals in the future."

Dylan paused briefly, nearly taken aback by Cat’s casual acceptance of her past. Then she grinned. "Me too."

******

"Hello again everyone and welcome to the Lakeland Sports Pavilion, site of this year’s Children’s Cancer Initiative Pro-Am Three on Three tourney. Bob Haskell and Jan Wainright here courtside to bring you wire to wire action as ten women’s professional basketball teams, and ten lucky fans, join together to help make the dreams of sick children and their families come true."

"It’s a beautiful day here in sunny California, Bob, and the stands are filled to capacity with cheering, excited fans. A perfect day for basketball, and a perfect day to see Pallas Dylan Lambert try out her moves once again on the court."

"Couldn’t agree more, Jan. So with that, why don’t we bring it down to courtside and begin with the introduction of the teams for this year’s tournament."

******

Kim stood off to the side, watching as the players from the other teams got introduces. She couldn’t have kept the grin off her face if someone had threatened her with bodily harm, and her cheek muscles were starting to ache something fierce. At least her stomach had calmed, thanks to the consumption of enough Pepto to plug up an elephant.

She’d already met her own teammates. Well, perhaps "met" was a bit too strong a word to use. She’d accepted Dylan’s warm handshake, but didn’t dare look her in the eyes, afraid she’d embarrass herself by fainting dead away. Touching the woman was bad enough.

Cat, on the other hand, was everything Kim thought she’d be and more. In a way, she felt vindicated. Her mother had always told her not to look up to sports and entertainment stars. They were human too, after all, and most of them, or so her mother often remarked from behind the pages of the latest People or Star, were rat bastards to boot.

But Cat had been every bit as kind and as sweet as Kim dreamed she’d be.

Besides, she had the cutest smile.

And the most awesome green eyes.

And…

Kim pinched herself once again, stopping the burgeoning fantasy dead in its tracks.

Well, at least she didn’t feel faint anymore.

*******

Cat also stood along the sidelines, watching as the teams were introduced. The very best players from the teams elected to attend the event, and for Cat, it almost as if it were her own All-Star game.

"Someday," she whispered.

And then it was her turn.

The crowd was quiet, waiting. When the smooth voice sounded over the intercom system, Cat felt a familiar thrill rush through her veins.

"Introducing the point guard for the Birmingham Badgers and first round pick in this year’s WBL draft, number three, Catherine Hodges!"

She ran out onto the court to the enthusiastic cheers of five thousand people, smiling and waving to the crowd as she nodded to her opponents and settled herself among them.

And then there was silence.

Absolute silence.

The expectation of the crowd was a palpable thing as necks craned, waiting for the one they had come here to see.

A low, reverberating bass hum flowed out into the stadium like an ocean wave washing onto the shore. The crowd gave an anticipatory cheer before falling silent again. The bass hum continued, drawing out the moment until it became almost painful.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, after a four year absence from the court, it is my great pleasure to reintroduce to you, wearing her retired number 34, the Female Player of the Century, the incomparable Pallas Dylan ‘The Goddess’ Lambert!!!"

As one, the crowd jumped to its feet, cheering so loudly that Cat thought her eardrums would burst. Still, she couldn’t help grinning as Dylan, black braid streaming behind her, ran through the gauntlet of security and onto the court, waving to the crowd and sending them into fits of near apoplexy.

"God-dess! God-dess! God-dess! God-dess!"

Five thousand voices chanted, accompanied by five thousand pairs of feet stamping and five thousand sets of hands clapping. It was nearly enough to rattle the fillings in Cat’s teeth, but she didn’t really notice, too busy clapping and stamping and chanting with the rest. Dylan gave her a little smirk before shaking her head. Cat smirked right back at her and began chanting all the louder.

Red roses flew down from the stands like fragrant rain. Bending, Dylan picked up one bloom that had landed closest to her feet and, inhaling its pleasing scent, lifted the rose and waved once again at the crowd, sending them into another frenzy that lasted for a good five minutes before finally beginning to wind down.

When at last some semblance of normalcy returned to the stadium, the players shook hands and retired to their respective benches.

*******

Dylan pulled the soaked towel away from her face and looked back at a staring Cat, one eyebrow arched. "Problem?"

Taking the response as somewhat of an invitation, Cat slid closer to Dylan while checking to make sure they were out of the earshot of anyone else. "Are you…feeling okay?"

"Right as a trivet, as my grandmother used to say. Why?"

Cat shrugged a little, then took another quick look around. "Oh, I dunno. It’s…." Breaking off, she sighed in frustration, and tried again. "Your game. It seems a little…off?"

"Off?" Dylan asked, straightening on the bench. "Off how?"

Cat thought for a moment. "Well, maybe not ‘off’ off. Maybe just…flat?"

"Flat."

Cat was finding it hard to think with those piercing eyes all but pinning her to the bench. "Yeah. You know. Not…." She sighed again, shaking her head. "Forget I said anything, alright? It’s stupid. I don’t know where my mind is today."

"No. I’m interested in knowing what you’re getting at, Cat. How is my game off?" Her lips curl. "And batting those eyes at me will not make me forget the topic."

Laughing softly, Cat pelted Dylan with her towel and moved closer until their thighs were casually touching. "You’re a nut, you know that?"

"I do try. Now quit trying to change the subject."

"Fine." Cat steepled her fingers and stared down at her hands. "You’re, I mean, you’re Dylan Lambert, you know? The Goddess. But you’re, kinda, playing like a…."

"Mere mortal?"

"Yeah." Cat felt herself blushing and wiped a hand across her forehead as if to wash it away. "Told you it was stupid."

When Dylan turned to her, her eyes were nothing but warm, and kind. "It’s not stupid, Cat. In fact, I’m kinda flattered that you’re concerned about it."

Wide eyes met hers, and Dylan’s smile broadened. "You are?"

"Yup." A beat of silence. "Remember what I said, though. Bring your A game to work and leave the razzle-dazzle for the highlight films."

"Yeah, but isn’t this almost one big highlight film?"

Dylan chuckled. "In a way, maybe, but we’ve also got a teammate who isn’t a basketball star. I think she deserves her time in the light too."

"You’re right," Cat replied, nodding. "I didn’t think of that."

"Well, we already know who the brains of this outfit is," Dylan quipped, smirking. "Looks like we’re up again. Ready?"

"Just remember, Ms. Goddess. Paybacks are a female dog."

"Oh yeah, I’m shaking already. Tiny."

*******

Cat slumped down on the bench, huffing. Grabbing the towel Dylan had thoughtfully draped around her neck, she wiped the sweat pouring liberally down her face and groaned. That last game was a bit closer than she would have liked. Still, if she was honest with herself, she wasn’t really all that surprised, given that the guard she faced was none other than Shauna Keeps, hands down the best in the league.

After a friendly greeting, Cat found herself taken to school, and right properly at that. While knowing full well that the biggest gap between them was experience, she would have gladly given her left kidney to possess the fluid grace and supreme confidence that seemed to be Keeps’ by birthright.

That she genuinely liked the woman made the lesson at least palatable, and she resolved then and there to get Dylan, if needed, to intercede on her behalf for some off-season lessons that would surely elevate her game to the next, much needed, level.

Dropping her towel in her lap, she turned to find Dylan looking at her, a spark of concern easily read in those too-blue eyes. "I’m okay," she reassured her partner. "She’s just…damn she’s good."

"She is that."

"It really makes me wish that I had been around, you know, as a professional, when the two of you played together. Playing against her is nothing like watching it on TV. You guys must have been, God, just amazing together."

"We were alright," Dylan drawled, stretching impossibly long arms along the back of the bench they shared while extending even longer legs and crossing them at the ankles, completely unperturbed by their close call.

"Nothing bothers you, does it," Cat observed with just a hint of envy.

Dylan shrugged. "Don’t sweat the small stuff."

Cat straightened, eyes flashing. "Dylan Lambert, you are one of, if not the most competitive person I know. I can’t believe I just heard that come out of your mouth!"

Laughing softly, Dylan reached up and tousled Cat’s already tousled hair. "We had it in the bag, darlin’. The outcome was never in doubt."

"For you, maybe," Cat grumbled.

Dylan’s expression turned serious. "One day, Cat," she intoned softly, "you’ll see in yourself what I see in you. Then, maybe, you’ll believe."

Rising elegantly to her feet, Dylan left a totally stunned Cat behind.

*******

"You and me, white bread! You and me, short shit! Yeah, you and me! I’m gonna fuck you up so high you ain’t never gonna come down!"

Cat’s nemesis, Kiesha Brown, was pulled back by her playing partner, Coral Tippets, and hustled over to the opposite bench.

"Jesus," Cat muttered half under her breath as she tossed her towel on the bench and followed it down. "Who in the hell pissed in her Wheaties this morning?"

Dylan smirked over her water bottle, then guzzled the rest of it down. "You wanted a challenge."

"Challenge? Damn, Dylan, if I’d wanted a prison gang fight, I’d have flashed the crowd and gotten myself arrested first!"

"Now that I would have liked to have seen," Dylan replied, chuckling.

"Get yourself a police uniform, sweetheart, and I’ll give you a show for free."

If she had had any water left in her mouth, Dylan would surely have choked. Crystal eyes went absolutely round, and Cat smirked, pleased to have gotten one up on her usually imperturbable partner.

"You seriously expect me to play with that image in my head, do you?"

Cat laughed. "Show me a few of your famous on-court moves in this next game, and you won’t need the uniform."

This time, Dylan was the one left stunned on the bench as Cat sauntered away. After a moment, she broke out into a big grin, and chuckled softly, shaking her head. "One of these days, Lambert," she murmured. "One of these days, you’ll learn that your little kitten has some mean claws."

******

The sound of a whistle cut stridently through the cheering crowd, but didn’t effect in the least the two enraged women grappling over the loose ball. Over the heads of the two combatants, Dylan and Tippets shared a look and, by mutual consent, moved forward to separate their respective partners from the melee.

Grabbing Cat easily, if gently, by one arm, Dylan tugged her away from the court, signaling a time-out to the referee with one raised eyebrow and ignoring the constant stream of epithets spewing from Keisha Brown like sludge from a sewer.

Once on the sidelines, Dylan released her hold on Cat and tossed her a towel. Cat plucked it out of mid-air and angrily tossed it aside, glaring at Dylan all the while. Dylan’s eyebrow made its way back up again. "You need to stop letting her get to you," she remarked after a moment filled with heated tension.

"Don’t you think I know that?!?" Cat hissed through clenched teeth. "In case it’s slipped your notice, oh Goddess, we’re down 9-3 here. We’re getting our asses kicked, and it’s like…it’s like…you don’t even care!!"

Dylan’s voice was very quiet. "Should I?"

The shock of her partner’s statement drained every single drop of anger from Cat’s body. She stared at Dylan as if she’d grown an extra head in the last minute or two. "I…bu…you….what?!?"

"This isn’t for a tournament trophy, Cat. It’s not for bragging rights," Dylan continued. "It’s for them." One long arm swept out, indicating the line of children sitting in the front row of bleachers. "To put some happiness in their lives, if even for a moment." She paused, then looked directly into Cat’s eyes, her own speaking with uncanny eloquence. "Do they look very happy to you?"

Following the direction of Dylan’s gesture, Cat blanched as she saw the concerned and sad expressions on the children’s faces. Shame washed through her in an incomprehensible wave. "Dear God," she whispered. "I didn’t…oh damn."

A warm hand on her shoulder brought her gaze back around, and she found herself bathed in the compassion of Dylan’s gentled eyes. "You’ve done nothing you can’t put right, Cat. Keisha Brown is nothing but a thug dressed up in a fancy uniform. We both know this. Don’t play down to her level. Play up to the person you know you are."

Cat felt a smile coming up from somewhere deep inside, and she let it out, unable to stop the warm feelings that Dylan’s simple, bedrock confidence engendered in her. Dylan returned the smile and cupped her cheek briefly, before grabbing the discarded towel and swatting her lightly across the butt with it. "Now let’s get em," she said over her partner’s outraged yelp.

*******

Since the Badgers had received the ball on the last "tie", Brown’s team brought it in-bounds and headed downcourt in a flurry of quick passes and fancy dribbles. Cat guarded Brown closely, refusing to be drawn into her bristling taunts and cruel teases.

"Watch my ass, dyke meat. It’s all you’re gonna see."

With a lightning quick first step, Brown drove to the basket, only to be soundly rebuffed by Cat’s terrier-like defense. Frowning just slightly, Brown dribbled back a few steps and casually called out a play to her teammate.

Tossing the ball to Tippets, she used a spin move and got into an open space in the paint. Receiving the pass just over the outstretched fingertips of Cat, she pumped a short jumper that rattled around the rim and bounced out.

Cat jumped for the rebound.

Brown saw her chance and grabbed it. With a bull rush, she cut Cat’s legs out from beneath her, dumping the smaller woman on her knees. Hard.

Dylan arrived a second too late, and gently lifted Cat back to her feet as the whistle blew, signaling a foul. "Are you alright?" she murmured, looking down at her lover’s skinned and bloody knees.

"Yeah," Cat replied, wincing slightly at the sting. "I’ll be okay."

The trainer ran onto the court and, receiving a nod form Dylan, led Cat to the sidelines to tend to her scrapes. Kim looked on apprehensively, unsure whether to approach or run away screaming. She decided to stay where she was, watching Cat as she was led from the court.

Only then did Dylan allow her anger to show. She rounded on Brown, pinning the cocky young woman to the court with her glare. "You know," she began in a soft, conversational tone that the fierceness in her pale, almost silver eyes belied, "I didn’t care when you were just talking trash. That’s all a little nobody punk like you knows. But when you deliberately set out to hurt someone, to take their livelihood away, well…that’s something I mind very much."

"Oh yeah?" Brown shot back, failing to entirely disguise the slight tremor in her voice. "And what are you gonna do about it, you old bitch?"

"C’mon now, Kiesha," Tippets said nervously, pulling the younger woman away. "That’s enough."

"Fuck you, Tippets. Fuck you all."

As Brown stomped away, Dylan slid her gaze to Tippets. "You keep a leash on that one, Coral."

The tall woman swallowed hard. "I’ll try, D."

"Don’t try, Coral. Do."

******

Two minutes later, the combatants had taken the court once again. Cat’s knees were cleansed and bandaged, and she was walking without a limp, though the stinging was quite intense.

"You sure you’re alright?" Dylan murmured from behind her.

"Yeah," Cat said on a released breath. "I’ll be fine. I just want to get this damned farce over with."

The smile on Dylan’s face was one that made even Cat a bit nervous. "Oh, don’t you worry," she replied, voice deceptively soft. "We will."

The whistle blew, and Dylan accepted the ball from the referee, passing it crisply to Cat, who dribbled down the court and set up a play with a quick flick of her fingers. When the offense was set, she shot a quick bounce pass to Kim, which was unfortunately intercepted by Brown, who took it back to the half-court line and started forward again, a smirk writ large on her cocky features.

Cat guarded her like stink on a pig, soundly rebuffing each and every penetration move she attempted.

The smirk was growing smaller.

Just outside the paint, Dylan caught Cat’s eye and Cat nodded almost imperceptibly. This time, when Brown stepped forward, Cat laid off, and Brown, more intent on showboating for the crowd than actually paying attention to her game, took three steps before running blindly into six feet three inches of solid muscle.

She dropped to the ground as if shot. The ball dribbled harmlessly over the endline just as the referee’s whistle blew.

"Charge!"

Brown scrabbled over onto her back, her face a frozen mask of utter rage. "Charge?!? Are you fucking blind, motherfucker?!? You--"

Her words trailed off as a long shadow loomed over her, and she found herself staring far up into cold eyes twinkling with a mad sort of mirth. "You’re playing with the big dogs now." Dylan’s low, deathly quiet voice washed over her in a paradox of honey and prickleburrs.

Trying her best to ignore the sudden tightening at the nape of her neck, Brown rose to her feet, but the nasty look she shot Dylan’s way was easily seen through.

Dylan walked back to Cat, whose face was stone, though her eyes beamed twin smiles in her partner’s direction. "Liked that, huh?"

"Would you be angry if I said ‘hell yeah’?"

"Nah. Little whelp deserved it."

The two shared a quiet chuckle.

"So. We’ve got the ball. Any ideas what to do with it?"

Dylan turned to face the basket, pondering their options. The smile that broke over her face was that of a lioness who’s just spotted a wounded antelope. "I think Black-23A will work nicely."

Cat looked at her, slightly wide-eyed, for a moment, before a smile of her own curved her lips. "Black-23A, huh? Ok, coach. You got it."

The whistle blew, signaling return to play. Cat gave the ball a quick dribble before flipping a short pass to Dylan, then held her hands out to receive it back and start down the court. Brown gave her a bump, but she sidestepped easily and blazed straight down the center of the court. Seeing the danger, Tippets broke off her guard of Dylan and slid in to block Cat, while Brown played off of Dylan, eyes darting back and forth between the players and the ball.

At the last possible second, Cat rifled the ball back blindly over her head toward a streaking Dylan, who caught it and jumped from just inside the foul line, vaulting over the covering Brown for a thunderous dunk that drove the crowd to their feet, screaming their praise to the heavens.

Grabbing the ball, she placed it almost gently in Brown’s hands and tipped the woman a lurid wink. "There ya go. Puppy."

The rest of the game wasn’t even close as Dylan and Cat put on a clinic, freezing their opponents in place with pinpoint passes, masterful ball handling, dunks, fadeaway jumpers and the odd hook-shot Dylan threw in just for chuckles.

Dylan Lambert was back, and it was glorious.

The game ended with an alley-oop from half court that had the delirious crowd near to climaxing from the excitement of it all. Even members of the other teams, who had come to watch the championship game, could do little but shake their heads, jaws dropping in awe. Most of them had never had the chance to see Dylan on anything but television, and the up-close and personal look was more than they ever could have dreamed.

Courteously handing the ball to the referee, Dylan braced herself as a blonde bolt of lightning launched herself into her arms, shouting in triumph. Dylan swung her around several times before carefully setting her back on her feet and draping a casual arm around her shoulders. "Not bad for an old bitch, huh?" Dylan asked, smirking.

Cat’s eyes were shining as she looked up at her partner. "Thank you." Her tone was solemn and heartfelt.

"Thank you back," Dylan replied, squeezing Cat close in a seemingly casual one-armed hug. "You made it easy."

Cat’s smile was as radiant as the sunrise, and it was an image Dylan carried with her as they were suddenly mobbed by teammates, reporters, and fans pouring down out of the stands.

*******

Part 4

Dylan watched across the small table, in a secluded corner of her favorite restaurant. Her normally bubbly and talkative companion was unusually quiet, taking more interest in her food than her dining partner.

"Cat, what’s wrong?"

The blonde looked up quickly, it was clear she hadn’t really heard the words. "Huh?"

Smiling, Dylan reached across the table and took the player’s hand. "I asked what was wrong." She gave a gentle, reassuring squeeze to the fingers she held.

Cat sighed and nodded, she knew it wouldn’t do any good to try and lie her way out of this one. "I’m worried."

"About?"

"Us."

This was not the answer Dylan had been expecting and the expression on her face showed it as she sat back and considered her friend. "Why are you worried?"

"You’re not going to believe this."

"Try me."

"I’m worried that being with me could hurt you."

"Catherine…"

Cat shook her head and looked directly into her lover’s eyes. "Hear me out."

"All right. I’m listening, go ahead." Dylan hadn’t released the hand she had been holding and began running her thumb over tender skin. "Tell me what’s bothering you."

"What if we’re found out?"

Dylan considered the question and her next words very carefully before speaking. "We’ll deal with it."

Cat steeled herself by taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "If Horace finds out about us, he’ll fire you."

"He’ll fire you too," the tall woman offered, logically.

"I don’t care about that. There are other teams that will take me."

Dylan grinned and winked. "You don’t think there are other teams that will take me too?"

"That’s not what I meant. I’m out; it’s no big secret. But you…you’re…"

"Hiding?"

"No, you’re careful and I understand why. You’re a huge commodity and if you were outted it could hurt you. You’d lose your job, all your endorsements…"

"Cat, I have more money than I know what to do with. I could lose my job tomorrow and I’d be fine. I have a good financial planner, and he’s made very wise investments for me."

The blonde gestured with her hands, not quite sure what to say. "Do you worry about anything?"

"Yes."

"What?"

"You." Dylan leaned across the table, taking Cat gently under the chin. "Don’t you worry about me. I care for you Cat and I enjoy being with you. We’ll deal with what comes down, if anything at all and, we’ll make future decisions together. So don’t think you’re going to get all noble on me and end this relationship. If we decide to end it, it will be a choice we make together. Get it?"

"Got it." The blonde felt happy tears in her eyes but managed to blink them back.

"Good." Dylan sat back in her chair and smiled, gesturing to Cat’s untouched food. "Now eat because I have plans for you tonight that will require you to have an abundance of energy."

"Oooo do tell!"

"Nope. It’s a surprise. Now eat. They killed a cow so you could have that steak."

"Did you have to say that?"

Dylan smirked and brought her mineral water to her lips.

*****

"Where are we going?" Cat watched as the scenery of the city passed by through the car window.

"Someplace very special."

"I got that, can I have a clue?"

"It’s exclusive."

"Anyone ever told you that you give truly lousy clues?"

"Very few people in my life are as straight forward with me as you are." She glanced across the car and smiled at her companion. "That’s one of the things I really love about you. You treat me like a real person, not the ‘Goddess’."

"Now I do, before it was definitely not the case. But I must admit the real article is much better than the fantasy I had."

Now Dylan sported a full-fledged unrepentant grin. "You fantasized about me?"

"Me and every other woman with active brain cells and hormones." Cat turned in her seat so she could watch her lover. "You have no idea how many nights I went to sleep, staring at your poster and dreaming of being with you.

Even in the dim light of the city streets lamps they passed by, Cat could see Dylan was sporting a slight blush. "Oh please," the blonde rolled her eyes. "Don’t even try to tell me this is news to you. You must know that women fantasize about you."

"Well, there’s a difference between ‘wondering’ and ‘knowing’. You’re the first person to tell me to my face."

"Maybe later I’ll tell you about the fantasies." Cat teased as she wriggled her brows. "Some of them were really hot."

Dylan groaned and made a left turn into a parking garage.

*****

As they began walking down the alley, Dylan reached over and took Cat’s hand. Feeling her tense slightly she pulled the smaller woman close and wrapped her arm around her shoulders. "Relax. We’re safe here, no one will see us."

She guided them to a non descript building, stopping under a blue awning. Cat watched as Dylan removed a key card from her jacket pocket and inserted it into a slot next to a black steel door. The light above the slot blinked from red to green and Dylan pulled the handle.

Once inside, Cat could hear loud music and what sounded like a pretty happy crowd. She held tight to the tall woman’s hand as they wound there way through a series of walls and curtains. After passing through the last curtain, Cat found herself standing on the edge of a dance floor, in a very well appointed and lush dance club.

"Wow." Her eyes grew wide as she saw many female couples, some of them on the dance floor taking advantage of the loud, heart pounding music. Others were lined along the bar, watching the action on the floor or trying to get the attention of one of the many bartenders. Looking up she saw even more people on the second floor balcony behind glass, looking down on the crowd. "This is amazing."

Dylan leaned down to she could speak in a volume Cat could hear that wouldn’t require her yelling over the music. "Come upstairs with me."

"Gladly."

Cat continued to watch the crowd, trusting Dylan completely to lead her upstairs and not to lose her in the crowd. Once they climbed the stairs and entered the second floor, the din of the music was muffled by what was apparently soundproof glass, it could still be heard, but a person wouldn’t have to scream to be heard over it.

"This place is great!"

"I thought you’d like it." Dylan continued to lead her through the room until they had arrived at the back were there were a few empty booths. They settled down together in one side of it and Dylan pulled Cat close. "It’s a private club, for those of us who want discretion. I pay a healthy membership fee to be assured I can come here without problems. A lot of those people," she gestured to the crowd around the balcony railing, "are people who would rather not be out either, but they want someplace to go so they can relax and be themselves."

"I had no idea places like this existed. I assumed that people just went to the local lesbian bars and took their chances."

"Not with this crowd." She pointed to a tall redhead. "That one is a superior court judge." She looked around the crowd and pointed to yet another woman. "She is on the City Council."

Cat shook her head and she watched the second woman, place a tender, and obviously very loving kiss on the temple of the brunette that was with her. "It’s a shame people still have to hide like this."

"Yeah it is, but they and so many others like them, have a lot to lose. This place is just the best and safest bet."

"Well, them I’m glad it’s here. Thanks for brining me."

"You’re welcome. I thought maybe we could get in a few dances," she leaned over and kissed a pink ear. "Then we can go home and act out some of your fantasies."

Now it was Cat’s turn to groan.

*****

The soft, gentle flickering of the candles in the room caused a golden glow to shimmer off the slightly damp bodies in the bed.

Every muscle in Cat’s body was taut with anticipation and arousal. She breath let her body in long, shaky streams as her skin tingled with Dylan’s every touch, kiss and caress.

Dylan looked up Cat’s torso from her position, with her lips gently kissing the trembling stomach before her. She smiled as she watched Cat draw in a fast breath as her own hands traveled slowly up the blonde’s body, barely touching the sides of her breasts as they continued up her arms. She glanced quickly at each of her lovers’ hands, which had a death grip on the silk scarves tied to the bedpost.

The scarves were tied, but Cat wasn’t. This wasn’t an exercise in light bondage; this was an exercise in patience, in erotica, in trust. Cat could let go anytime she wanted, but she didn’t want to let go. She wanted this feeling to last all night and she had a feeling from the way Dylan was taking her time that it would be daylight before they finally found sleep.

Cat had told Dylan some of her fantasies and with a wicked, playful grin, the brunette had agreed that playing some of them out could be very stimulating and satisfying.

Arriving home from the club they had wasted no time in beginning a mutual seduction. Cat had confided that she wanted to give herself to Dylan in any way the other woman desired. For Dylan, it was an erotic rush like no other to hear Cat’s admission. No one in her life had ever offered such a pure gift before.

With gentle questioning of the blonde, Dylan had set the scene. Candles had been lit, soft music played in the background, giving them just enough to set the pace by, but yet not to be distracting.

For Dylan, Cat’s total submission did not equal domination. The tall woman was well aware it was her lover who actually held all the power because of the depth of the emotion she was feeling for her partner at this very moment as her hands and lips loved the body under her. If Cat asked for the moon, Dylan would drag it to Earth for her.

And Dylan was determined that Cat shouldn’t regret sharing her most intimate fantasies. She wanted the experience to garner her more trust so that they could share more.

More.

That was a new word for Dylan. To want more from a lover. As she placed a kiss to Cat’s neck, feeling the shiver from her partner, Dylan realized that she could be falling hard for the blonde.

"Tired?" She whispered softly, licking Cat’s lobe.

"No." The soft admission, punctuated with a small moan, made Dylan smile.

"I could love you all night like this."

"Good."

Their lips met and Dylan knew it would be long, loving night. Tomorrow would be soon enough to take these new emotions out and examine them.

*******

The early morning sun laid lazy stripes across the huge bed, creating interesting patterns along the long, lean, muscled body occupying that bed. Turned to her side and propped up on one elbow, Cat traced the sun dapples on Dylan’s body with one of the silken scarves, watching gooseflesh break out across her palette. She turned a smile to her lover, then froze as eyes gone to deep indigo pierced through her, turning her insides to molten heat.

"Sweet Jesus," she whispered, dropping the scarf and rolling into Dylan’s waiting arms.

The kiss that followed was incendiary, tearing the breath from her lungs and the thoughts from her mind. She moaned as she glided across sweat-slick skin, sure beyond telling that nothing had ever felt this good. Until, that is, teeth grazed softly over her neck and lips latched on, suckling gently at her bounding pulsepoint.

"Dear God, Dylan, please don’t…." Buried beneath a heap of clothes in the corner, a cellphone chirped self-importantly. "…stop."

Dylan eased away, earning a long, drawn out groan of protest. "They can leave a message," Cat growled, searching out her lover’s kiss-bruised lips.

"That’s the third time in an hour," Dylan replied, turning her face slightly away so the kiss landed on her cheek. "It might be important."

"This," Cat countered, pressing herself into the hot, firm body beneath her, "is important. That can easily be crushed into a million tiny little pieces if it doesn’t shut up…right…now!"

As if hearing the threat, the phone quieted.

Then started up again, causing Cat to grit her teeth, jump up from lover and bed, and stalk over to the innocent heap of clothing, pawing through it until she came up with the phone and flipped it open. "What?!" she barked.

There was a long pause.

"Alright, whoever this is, you’ve got exactly one second to start talking. And it damn well better be an emergency or there’s going to be some serious hell to pay!"

Another pause, shorter this time. Then a hesitant voice came over the line. "Cat?"

Cat’s eyes widened. "Dad?"

"Yes, sweetheart. Where are you?"

"Where am…wait a minute. Where are you?"

"At the airport, Cat," her father replied patiently. "You were supposed to pick us up, remember?"

The sensation of blood rushing from her head was one Cat hoped not to repeat in the future.

Noticing the sudden paleness to her lover’s features, Dylan started to rise, only to be waved back by Cat as she turned slightly away from the bed. "God, I’m so sorry, Dad. I overslept."

"Overslept? Honey, that’s not like you." A break in the conversation treated Cat to her mother’s muffled voice demanding to know what was going on. "Your mother wants to know…."

"Yes, I heard her. Look, I’m really sorry, Dad. I was up really late last night…studying plays for tonight’s game." The lie tasted sour and foul in her mouth, and she turned further away from what she was sure was a hurt look on Dylan’s face. "I’ll jump in the shower real quick and be there in less than an hour."

"That’s okay, Cat," her father countered. "We can take a taxi."

"No! No, just…wait there. I won’t be long. I promise."

"Well…."

"Please, Dad, trust me on this. Grab some breakfast or hit the shops and I’ll be there before you know it, alright?"

She could hear more muffled conversation between her parents, and when her father finally came back on, she sighed in distinct relief.

"Your mother says that we’ll meet you right outside the doors to baggage claim."

Thank you, God!! "Alright, Dad. Tell Mom I’m sorry, and I’ll see you guys soon. Bye."

Ending any further conversation, she snapped the phone closed, and turned hesitantly back to the bed where Dylan was lounging on a stack of pillows, hands clasped casually over the flat, muscled plane of her belly. "I’m sorry," Cat said in a small voice.

Dylan’s eyes softened and she lifted one long arm, palm up. Cat crossed the small space between them, and grasped the offered hand, clasping it as one would a lifeline. "You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Cat."

"But…."

"Listen to me. Remember the conversation we had last night at dinner?"

"Yes, but…."

"Cat, a relationship like ours is going to have its difficulties. The need to keep it away from the outside world is primary among them. What you will, or won’t, say about it to your parents is something that only you can decide. And whatever you decide will have my complete support, okay? We’re in this together."

Tears stung at her eyes again, and she blinked them away as she nodded.

"Good. Now I’d suggest jumping in the shower post haste, because if you stand here like that much longer, I’m not going to be responsible for one hour late turning into four or five."

That got the smile she was looking for, and she stared in frank appreciation at the rear view as Cat scampered from the bedroom and into the bathroom. "Oh, Dylan," she groaned, collapsing back against the headboard as the shower cut on, "you’re playing with fire here." Then she grinned, stretching and feeling the pleasant soreness a night of loving had given her body.

"Burn, baby, burn."

******

Cat grabbed her gym bag and was headed out of the locker room when she ran into Dylan. The coach smiled and offered a wave bringing the player over. "Dinner?" Dylan asked quietly, knowing they might not completely alone yet.

"I..um…I promised to have dinner with my folks tonight."

"Ah that’s right. I forgot. Have a good time and let me know if they enjoyed the game. You gave them a hell of a show tonight."

"I didn’t do that for my folks, I did that for you." She grinned, wrinkling her nose. "I always get such great rewards when we win."

"True, but I guess this one will have to wait until your folks leave."

"Hey, why don’t you join us? My day would love that. He’s a big fan you know?"

"I don’t want to…"

Cat held up her hand. "Stop, just stop. Don’t say it. I wouldn’t have invited you if it were a problem. Come to dinner with us. I’m sure we can find something on the menu at Ramano’s that you can eat."

"Actually they have an eggplant dish that’s one of my favorites."

"Good. Then meet us there at eight. I need to go home and change. I’d invite you, but they’re meeting me there."

"Eight it is then."

Making sure they were quite alone in the hall, Cat gave Dylan a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. "See you soon."

********

Cat opened the door of her apartment and found her folks sitting in front of the TV watching the highlights of the game on the evening news. "Didn’t you get enough the first time?" She teased as she dropped her gym bag by the laundry room door.

"Never," he father stood and opened his arms for a hug, which she gave without hesitation. "I love watching you play. I have all your televised games on tape."

"Good. When I’m retired and I want a highlights tape I know who to call."

"You’ve got years ahead of you, Cat."

He led her back to the couch, where they sat, with her mother between them. She gave her mom a hug. "I’m so glad you guys could come for a visit. I’m sorry I couldn’t get home, I just had so much to do."

"It’s okay, sweetheart. We understand." Her mother brushed a lock of hair from her daughter’s face. "You’re a busy young lady. Sometimes I think too busy."

Un-oh, this can’t be good. "What’s wrong, Mom?"

"Nothing is wrong, honey. I’m just worried that you’re working so hard you’ve forgotten to have a life."

"I have a very nice life, Mom."

"What about finding someone?"

"Mom, let’s not get into this again, okay. You know we don’t see eye to eye on this subject."

"But honey, I’m just…"

"Please?" Cat asked with just a hint of pleading in her voice. "We shouldn’t discuss this. It only ends up in an argument. We agreed not to talk about this."

"All right, fine sweetheart."

Cat sighed at her mother’s tone. "I promise you with all my heart that when I find that someone special, you’ll be the first to know and I hope you like her."

"Any chance it’ll be a him?"

"Only if he has breasts and a v…"

"Catherine," he father warned. He knew that his wife tried to accept their daughter’s choices and that sometimes she didn’t manage it as well as any of them would like, but he hadn’t raised his daughter to sass her mother and he wasn’t going to let her start now.

"I’m sorry, Dad. I’m going to go take a shower and change so we can go to dinner. By the way, Coach Lambert is joining us. I thought you’d like to have a chance to talk to her one on one."

"That’s great sweetheart," he father gestured her toward the upstairs and a shower, giving her the signal that he wanted to speak with her mother.

Once Cat was out of the room, he turned to his wife. "Don’t do that to her."

"What?"

"Try to push her into an argument with you."

"I was doing no such thing!"

"You were too. Now I know you love Cat and I also know that you don’t care for her choices in companionship, but don’t start this. Let the girl be."

"I…" The doorbell ringing stopped her next comment.

"Dad," Cat called from upstairs. "Can you get that, I’m just about to get in the shower."

"Sure, Sweetheart, you go ahead."

Her father turned on his heel going to the door at a fast clip. He pulled it open to find Dylan standing there with a large blue notebook in her hand. "Hi, um I was supposed to meet you at the restaurant but Cat forgot the new play book and I was in the area…"

"Come in Coach Lambert. I know Cat won’t mind."

Dylan stepped into the studio apartment and smiled finding it as she always did, neat and uncluttered. As she closed the door she heard a familiar clicking on the floor. "Hey, Hamlet, you flea bitten mutt." She tormented the dog, but knelt down and gave him the scratching he always expected when she visited.

"He seems to like you," Cat’s mother offered from the couch. "It took him an hour to stop growling at us. Does he see a lot of you?"

"Actually he does. Cat and I spend a lot of time together."

"Really?" The suspicion in her mother’s voice was quite clear.

"Yes, I’m the head coach and she’s the team leader." She hefted the playbook as proof. "It’s a hazard of the job I’m afraid."

"I’m sure Cat doesn’t think of it as a hazard or a hardship. You inspire her."

For all kinds of things. Dylan managed to keep the words from tumbling from her mouth. "That’s good to hear."

"Would you like a drink?"

"Actually I don’t drink, not normally at least. But if Cat’s got some juice around here…"

"I’ll get it." Cat’s mom left the couch and wandered into the kitchen, leaving Dylan and Joseph standing in the center of the room.

"Have I done something to upset her?" Dylan lifted one brow and gestured toward the kitchen.

"No," Joseph sighed. "She and Cat had a ‘moment’ before you arrived. It’s fine."

"Is Cat okay?"

The older man smiled, hearing genuine concern in her voice. "She’s fine. She and her mother go ‘round about things once in a while."

Dylan felt the need to press further. "And this time?"

"Ilene thinks that Cat needs to get into a relationship."

"Well, to be honest I discourage that in my players during the season. It messes with their concentration."

"That makes sense."

"So you’re the reason Catherine is alone?" Ilene entered the living room and placed a glass of orange juice on the table.

"No, Mother!" Cat yelled from the top of the steps. She hopped into her sneakers and charged down the stairs. "Dylan is not the reason I’m not in a relationship. Now would you please stop."

The blonde turned to her coach and smiled. "I’m sorry about that. She’s off her medication and she gets nuts."

"CATHERINE!" Her mother yelled.

Dylan chuckled and her father out right laughed. "It’s okay Cat," Dylan turned sympathetic eyes on her favorite person. "I can understand why your mother doesn’t want you to be alone."

If looks could kill, Cat would have seriously wounded Dylan. They were tempting fate by playing this little game, but Cat had warned Dylan. And she had told her that she wasn’t ready to spring their new relationship on her parents just yet.

Cat’s parents loved her, that was never in question. And they wanted her to have her career as a basketball player. The young woman had worked hard for it and they supported her every step of the way.

However, her mother had never really been comfortable with Cat’s sexual orientation. In their home it had been a case of don’t ask, don’t tell and when Cat brought home someone she was dating, her mother simply pretended they were just friends. Ilene had always hoped it was a ‘phase’ and that Cat would grow out of it when she found a nice man to settle down with.

"So," Dylan broke the silence. "How about we go to dinner. My treat."

"Dylan, I invited you to dinner. You don’t have…"

"I don’t have to. I want to. But you have to eat eggplant."

"I’ll buy and have a steak." Cat chuckled as she patted Dylan on the back in a gesture that was familiar if not intimate.

This did not get past her mother.

*******

Dinner was actually relaxed and the foursome had a good time. Dylan got to embarrass Cat with stories of games and practices that her folks hadn’t seen and her parents got to tell embarrassing Cat stories. For Cat’s part she just sat, sipping her tea and wishing for a quick death.

Her parents had both excused themselves before coffee and Dylan leaned over to speak with Cat. "How you holding up?"

"I’m okay. I’m sorry about Mom."

"Well, honey you did warn me. But I do understand what you were telling me."

"She’ll be okay, but it’s better if we just let her figure it out for herself, then she’ll just deal with it."

"I gotcha." Dylan leaned over a bit closer. "How long are they in town for?"

Cat whimpered and twisted her napkin in her hands. "Three days." She turned playfully murderous eyes on her lover. "And don’t you start something we can’t finish."

"Me? Would I do that to you?"

"You know you would. You evil thing."

Dylan laughed and picked up her glass as her parent’s returned from their respective trips to the restroom.

"Did we miss something funny?" Her mother asked as she retook her seat.

"Yes, I was just torturing Cat."

"Well", her father took his seat and took Cat’s hand. "I’m glad to know someone is taking the job seriously since I’m not here to do it."

Dylan laughed as Cat could only hang her head and shake it slowly, knowing that it was the truth and there was no way to fight it.

********

Returning back to Cat’s place, Dylan was invited up for coffee and but declined. She did ask to speak to Cat for a few minutes and the player’s parents headed up to the apartment leaving the two in the car.

"Thanks for tonight." Cat said as she took Dylan’s hand. "It was sweet of you."

"Well, I’m hoping I can get them to like me without knowing why." Dylan chuckled, lifting her hand to caress Cat’s cheek. "I’m going to miss you."

"Let’s just thank God that they’re only going to be here for three days. We can survive three days."

"Now I remember," Dylan snapped her fingers playfully. "My shower has a cold setting."

"Yes it does. And thankfully, so does mine."

Dylan smiled, leaning over to kiss Cat goodnight.

*******

When she entered her apartment her mother was in her long nightgown sitting on the couch. She was noticeably alone.

"Where’s Dad?"

"Why were you kissing Dylan Lambert?"

"What?"

"I saw you kiss her. Why?"

Cat looked to the heavens for divine intervention and when she realized it wasn’t coming she took a few steps toward her mother. "I kissed Dylan goodnight. Is there a problem with that?"

"Are you seeing her?"

"Does it make a difference?"

"Why didn’t you tell us?"

Cat sighed hard and sat down in the chair across from the couch. "I didn’t tell you because it’s none of your business."

"So you are seeing her?"

"Yes," Cat finally decided that giving up would be the best course of action. "Yes, I’m seeing her."

"How long has this been going on?"

"That is none of your business."

"Catherine, don’t you speak to me like that."

"Mother I love you dearly, but I will not be interrogated in my own house. Yes, Dylan and I are seeing each other, but how long we’ve been seeing each other is none of your business."

"Do you love her?"

Cat sat there and considered it. Do I love her? "I have very deep feelings for Dylan. We are taking this relationship slow to give us both more time."

"Why are you keeping it quiet?"

"For a number of reasons, but mainly this one. We have no desire for our private lives to be up for discussion."

"You would think you’d tell your mother and father."

"Why? So you could tell me it was just a phase and that I needed to find a nice young man? God, Mom when are you going to realize that I don’t want a young man? I’m a lesbian. I like women."

"I just can’t understand that."

"Fine Mom, you don’t have to understand it and you certainly don’t have to approve, but damn it that’s just the way it is so you may as well just pretend to deal with it."

"I can’t believe you’re talking to me like this Catherine."

"And I can’t believe you’re still trying to tell me how to live my life. I’m a grown woman, Mom. I make my own living and I make my own choices."

"She’s done this to you."

"Who has done what?"

"Dylan Lambert, she’s made you disrespectful."

"Bullshit!" Cat flew off the chair and began pacing. "Dylan has nothing to do with the fact that I’m tired of you pretending this is some phase or something I’m going to grow out of. I’ve been a lesbian since I was fourteen, Mom! It’s not going to change." She stopped pacing and faced her mother. "I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it is and I’m not going to try to do something that will make me unhappy just to please you."

"I can see that." Her mother stood up and nodded to her daughter. "Do you want your father and I to go?"

"No! Where did that come from? I love having you guys here, I just don’t need this particular issue to come up and ruin our visit."

"Maybe I should speak to Miss Lambert."

"Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare drag Dylan into this! She has nothing to do with this other than she’s the one I’m currently dating. Don’t make me choose between you mom, because right now I’m afraid you would lose."

"Catherine listen to what you’re saying. You would chose that woman over your family?"

"No, I would choose her over you. Look at what you’re doing, Mother!"

"Ilene," Cat’s father stood at the railing of the bedroom. "That’s enough, leave Cat alone and come to bed."

The older woman looked to her husband and then to her daughter, without another word she turned and went upstairs leaving Cat mad and shaking.

A few minutes later Cat took the phone into the kitchen and dialed. She waited until Dylan picked up the phone and then she said the first thing that came to mind. "I love you."

*******

Dylan drummed her fingers on the steering wheel; her mind was elsewhere, which was obvious by the sound of the horn behind her. "Yeah, yeah, yeah…give me a break." She hit the gas and went through the light, taking a second to clear her thoughts.

She had managed to get Cat calmed down from last night’s unexpected confrontation without responding to the younger woman’s declaration. Cat hadn’t even seemed to notice, but the whole thing had left Dylan re-examining her relationship with the star player.

Just when she didn’t think things could get worse, she got a call from Horace’s executive secretary. The old man was demanding that Dylan come to his house. It was certainly the last thing on the planet the coach wanted to do, but Horace wrote the checks, and if he wanted to see her she really couldn’t tell him to go to hell.

"Though you bet your ass I’d like to," she growled into the rearview mirror.

Turning off the main road, she slowed the car so she could enjoy the drive out to the estate. The road she was on was public, but it was barely traveled, making more like a private drive. She could just slow down and enjoy the scenery for a few minutes; it would give her time to try and figure out what Horace wanted and maybe give her some answers about dealing with Cat.

Ten minutes later she pulled up to the gates that kept Horace’s house secluded and away from the fans that might want to kick the old goat’s ass. Dylan was no closer to knowing what he wanted, but she had come to a conclusion about Cat. Take it one day at a time.

Not that she was frightened, exactly, or unaware of the steadily deepening feelings between herself and one Catherine Hodges. She didn’t know if she could call it love yet. Then again, being who and what she was, she never had much practice with that particular emotion.

"There’s just so goddamn much at stake," she muttered, hitting the button to lower her window as the callbox came into view.

Placing her finger on the "announce" button, she waited until a woman’s voice answered her buzz.

"Yes?"

"Dylan Lambert to see Mr. Johnson."

"Of course, Dylan. Horace is expecting you. Please come up."

The gate opened slowly, it’s chain making a noise that made it clear it needed a good oiling.

"Maybe he’ll get locked in." Dylan chuckled as she pulled her car up to the house. Before she had time to remove her sunglasses the front door swung open and a rather attractive older woman opened the door.

"Dylan," she smiled, opening her arms for a hug. "I’m so glad to see you again!"

Dylan returned the embrace fully. She'd known Hellene Johnson for a number of years and liked her a great deal. She was dignified, warm, kind and giving; the exact opposite, in other words, of her bigoted husband.

"Horace is with his doctor right now, but he’ll be with you shortly. Can I offer you anything? Coffee? Wine? Something a bit stronger, perhaps?"

"Water would be fine."

Hellene smiled, and Dylan found herself appreciating the woman’s genuine warmth all over again. Her anger at Horace grew. Why he felt the need to step out with a succession of airheads with chest sizes equal to their IQ’s when he had a partner who so obviously cared for him was something she would never understand.

"I’ll be right back."

As Hellene left the room, Dylan stuffed her hands in her pockets, but began giving the room a through look over. On what appeared to be an antique chest there were several photos. Inspecting them more closely, she found pictures of Horace and his wife along with a son and two daughters. She wasn’t surprised to find the wife and the children looked happy but Horace always seemed to look as if he had a bad smell under his nose.

Hellene returned in short order and handed Dylan a tall glass of water. "Please have a seat and make yourself comfortable."

"Thank you." Dylan settled on a long leather sofa and Hellene took a seat in the matching armchair.

"So tell me, Dylan, are you happy with the Badgers?"

"I am. The Badgers have the makings of a championship team."

"Well, drafting Catherine Hodges was a stroke of genius on your part."

"Thank you. I’m not sure your husband feels the same way."

"Oh you have to ignore Horace most of the time. I promise you, his bark is far worse than his bite."

Dylan smiled and sipped her water. "Well, having been on the receiving end of his bite—metaphorically speaking—a few times, I’d say they’re about equal."

A moment later, a tall man in an impeccably pressed suit entered the living room. "Hellene, Horace is fine. But I still want him to take it easy for a few more days. And keep him off the liquor."

"I do my best, James, but you know how he is."

"I know if he doesn’t change his habits he’s going to be dead in a year. Pour it down the drain if you have to but keep him off it."

"Yes James." The older woman rose and showed the doctor to the door. "Dylan, if you’ll come with me." She gestured down a long hall and Dylan rose to follow her.

*****

Horace was propped up in the massive bed and with several trade magazines spread all around him. The TV was tuned to ESPN, and the old man looked like hell.

It might not be a long wait.

Dylan waited until the door was closed and they were left alone, then she took a couple steps toward the bed. "Horace."

"Lambert. Glad you could come by."

"You called. I came. You’re the boss."

"I’m glad to see someone in my organization remembers that." He gestured to a chair next to the bed. "But my being the boss isn’t enough to keep you on the straight and narrow is it?"

"Excuse me?"

"What’s going on between you and the Hodges dyke?"

"What?" Dylan managed indignant very well, she hoped it would be enough to side track him.

"I’ve been told that you’re spending a lot of time with her. Did you jump on the Sodomite chariot Ms. Lambert? Is that why you wanted her?"

Dylan rose to her feet. "I don’t believe this. One, there is nothing between Catherine and me other than a coach and player relationship." Okay I’m going straight to hell for that one. "Two, Catherine and I spend a lot of time together because she’s the team leader…"

"And why in the hell were you at dinner with her and her parents the other night?"

Trying her best to keep her boiling anger in check, she managed to stay calm enough to answer him. "Her father is a fan of mine and she invited me to dinner so we could meet in a more informal and comfortable setting."

"So you aren’t screwing around with her?"

"No, I can honestly say I’m not screwing around with her." It’s a lot more than that you miserable bastard. She means more to me that a roll in the sack.

"Good. Then you won’t mind doing a little publicity thing I’ve set up for you."

"I am not going out with Hunter Locke again. The man is an idiot."

"It’s nothing like that. It’s a print ad for Nike. You do the ad and the team gets a season’s worth of new gear, with an option for renewal if they like what they see." Bearing yellowed teeth in a leering grin, he takes a long, slow look down her body and back up again, not quite meeting her glaring eyes.

"Why is it that every time I deal with you I feel like a street corner whore?"

He cocked his brow. "You don’t really want me to answer that do you."

Her jaw was clenched so hard she feared for her teeth, but she managed to keep her hands unfisted and hanging limp at her sides, though in her mind, those same hands were wrapped around the bastard’s throat, squeezing the last ounce of life from his flabby body. "Fine," she ground out. "Are we through here?"

Horace held out a folder. "All the details are in there. You be a good little coach and keep me happy, and I’ll stay away from the dyke." His smile was brutal. "Send the wife in here on your way out."

*****

Dylan ground her teeth all the way home. Horace Johnson was an insufferable pig, and it was days like today when she wondered why in the hell she was still working for him.

Can’t back out now, Dylan. Too many people count on you.

As she pulled in the driveway, she couldn’t help but smile when she saw Cat’s truck idling. The blonde was sitting in the driver’s side with the window down and the radio louder than it needed to be. Pulling in behind the truck, she could tell she hadn’t been noticed.

Silencing the engine, she slipped out of the car and rose to her full, commanding height, the grin on her lips that of a hunter stalking prey. Quiet as a shadow, she moved to the truck and slid around so that she was standing before the open window. Bending so that her head came level with the in-the-clouds driver, she took in a breath, and expelled it in a gentle stream in the direction of Cat’s ear.

"Holyshit!!" Cat shouted, jumping in her seat and banging her head against the cab’s ceiling.

Dylan’s laughter only increased in volume at the black look Cat gave her as she rubbed her suddenly tender noggin. "You trying to kill me or what?"

"Sorry," Dylan said, not sounding very sorry at all. "Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

"You wish," Cat replied primly, reaching for the key and turning off the engine. Silence descended as she reached across the seat and grabbed a thick playbook. "The play diagrams you asked for, Coach."

"Ah, back to that again, are we?"

"Hmmph."

Opening the door, Dylan sketched a grand bow. "Would the Madame care to repair to the house? A lovely plum wine awaits her fine attentions."

Unable to even pretend to be angry anymore, Cat finally cracked a smile and slid from the cab, hooking her arm through Dylan’s and allowing herself to be led into the cool confines of the large and beautiful house.

******

"Be good you two."

Siegfried gave a very human sigh of disappointment and stalked back into the living room, head hanging. Brunhilde looked regally on, sitting still as a statue until Dylan gave her customary scratch behind the ears. Only then did she deign to join her brother in the other room.

Tossing the folder and the playbook on the table inside the door, Dylan turned to Cat, drew her into her arms, and kissed her long and deep. When they finally separated, she grinned down at Cat, who looked like she was trapped in her own dream world.

"I needed that," the blonde finally managed as her eyes slowly opened.

"Me too. I had to spend part of my afternoon with Horace-the-bloodsucker-Johnson."

"Eww."

"Eww is right. God he makes my skin crawl. I want to take a hot shower."

"That could be fun," Cat offered with an evil grin.

"Yes, it could." Dylan grabbed Cat’s wrist and headed the toward the bathroom. "Let’s go."

*****

Dylan laid on the floor, propped up on several fluffy pillows. Cat was lying with her head in the tall woman’s stomach, drawing lazy designs on a corded, naked thigh only inches away. She was completely relaxed, filled with the kind of blissful lassitude that only a hot shower and a bout of enthusiastic lovemaking could inspire.

Dylan was leafing through pages of the playbook, obviously impressed.

"These are really good, Cat. You may have the makings of a decent coach." Looking over the top of the playbook, she playfully narrowed her eyes at her lover. "You’re not gunning for my job, are ya?"

"Hell no. You think I want to deal with the slug who walks like a man any more than I absolutely have to? No thanks. I’ll stick to playing. The coaching job is allll yours."

Dylan let her fingers slip through Cat’s silky hair as she put the papers aside. "Thanks."

"So what did the smarmy little bigot want this time?"

"His spies caught me having dinner with you and your folks last night."

Cat rolled up to a sitting position, eyes wide. "Shit."

"No, don’t worry about it. I convinced him it was harmless." She sighed. "But that convincing came with a pricetag attached."

Cat’s eyes narrowed. "What kind of a price?"

"He wants me to do some print ad for Nike. Gratis for me, lots of nice shiny new equipment for him." She sighed again, shaking her head. "Manny is gonna shit bricks when he hears."

"I don’t understand. Doesn’t your contract specify that you get a percentage of all those endorsement deals?"

"Yeah, but if you read between the lines, I need to scratch his ass for him when he asks."

"Or?"

Dylan hesitated, but something in those flaring emerald eyes convinced her that the truth would be the only thing Cat would accept. "He comes down on us."

"You mean me, don’t you."

"Cat, it’s okay…."

"No it isn’t, goddamnit!" Jumping to her feet, Cat began to pace. "Dylan, I will not have you whoring yourself just to protect me. It’s not right, damnit!"

Rising, Dylan put a tender hand on Cat’s shaking shoulder and gathered her into an embrace. Cat struggled for a moment, her anger overwhelming, but Dylan’s hold didn’t loosen, and after a moment, she gave into the inevitable, finally resting her hot face against the silken skin of her lover’s chest. "Sweetheart," Dylan murmured in a low, soothing voice, "when I said it was alright, I meant it. This…whoring…isn’t anything new for me. It’s all part of the game I’ve been playing since High School. It was just a lot more discrete back then. Do you think anyone was paying me to be seen at oh-so public events with Thad Hunter or any one of the legion of men I’ve been seen with over the years?" When Cat didn’t answer, she continued. "If he couldn’t use you as an excuse, he would have come up with another one, or even none at all. It’s part of the game, and I accept that."

"It’s not fair," Cat mumbled, her anger slowly leaking away in the strength of Dylan’s embrace.

"No, it isn’t. But if it keeps him off my back, and lets me have some peace in my life, it’s worth it. I have no regrets."

Cat slowly lifted her head, eyes shining with tears not-quite dried. "None?"

"None." And with that, Dylan lowered her head and gave Cat a kiss that erased every single doubt—and every single thought—from Cat’s head.

******

An hour later, they were back in their same positions on the floor, sipping the promised plum wine as their heated bodies slowly cooled. With an idle hand, Cat flipped open the folder that Dylan had dropped on their nest when she came back with the wine. What she saw caused her to choke on that wine, and she sat up, eyes glued to the glossy print in front of her. "Jesus Christ!!"

"What?" Dylan asked, startled out of her pleasant daze. "What is it?"

"This!" Cat shouted, thrusting the paper into her partner’s face.

Taking the glossy, Dylan examined it, impressed with the attention to detail. It was an incredibly lifelike drawing of two figures—herself and Marquis Jackson, the reigning king of the NBA—pressed chest to chest, belly to belly, melded together all along their lengths. Sweat beaded brightly against their naked skin; his a deep ebony, hers a beautifully contrasting ivory. Both were naked save for their feet. Marquis was clad in white Nikes with a black swoosh, and Dylan in the opposite. Artistically, it was breathtaking, and she understood fully why Johnson was salivating over it. If it looked this good as a simple drawing, Dylan could only imagine what it would look like with live bodies and expert photography.

"You’re not saying anything," Cat commented in a dangerously low voice. "Why aren’t you saying anything?"

Dylan lowered the mock-up and found herself bathed in pure green fire. She fancied she could feel her insides roasting under the heat of Cat’s glare and was, quite uncharacteristically, at a complete loss for words.

Cat’s eyes narrowed to slits. "Don’t tell me you don’t see anything wrong with this…this….this…travesty!"

So, this is what being caught between Scylla and Charibdes feels like. Shit.

Cat’s eyes gradually widened at Dylan’s continuing silence, and she peered down at her lover, examining her like some particularly atrocious species of bug she’d just discovered stuck to the bottom of her shoe. "You don’t see anything wrong with this, do you." Her voice was deceptively soft, but carried the thunder of a summer storm in its undertones. "I don’t believe this."

Coming to her feet, she grabbed for her clothes in a series of jerky motions so unlike her usual smooth grace that Dylan could only stare in stunned disbelief. Finally, she found her voice and coaxed it out of hiding. "Cat?"

Pulling on her t-shirt, and not realizing it was inside out, Cat pinned her lover with another glare. "No. You just…do whatever it is you feel you have to do. I know where the door is. I’ll let myself out."

"But…."

"Goodnight, Coach. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow."

Everything in Dylan wanted to jump up and prevent Cat from following through on her actions, but her more rational mind told her it would be one of the larger mistakes in her life to go after Cat now, when she was this angry. At her.

She was totally unaware of crumbling the glossy mock-up in one clenching fist as she watched, helplessly, as Cat stalked from the house, slamming the door behind her.

Dylan collapsed against the pillows, running her free hand through her hair. "Fuck."

*******

Cat cried all the way home. She cried once she was inside the door. She cried as she lay across her bed, wishing she could stop crying.

Why should she be mad? Dylan was a grown woman and if she wanted to do pornographic ads that was up to her. She didn’t have anything but a few nights of …

Of what?

Cat considered it. She had blurted out to Dylan that she loved her. Did she love her or was she just saying that because her mother had pushed the envelope?

She rolled over on her back, angrily swiping at her cheeks to keep the tears from rolling down her face. String at the ceiling of her bedroom, she considered it. When she was with Dylan she felt things she had never felt before. And she knew it wasn’t just the physical aspect.

When she was with Dylan she felt ten feet tall. She felt smart, funny, and more mature. Dylan made her stomach flutter, made her heart pound and made her brain mushy. All the feelings she felt were good. This was the first time she’d ever felt bad when it came to dealing with the tall woman.

Obviously Dylan didn’t feel the same way. She hadn’t responded to Cat’s declaration of love in any way. Now Catherine realized all the older woman had done that night was get her clamed down before telling her they would talk later and ending the call.

Dylan didn’t love her. That was becoming perfectly clear to the young woman.

If Dylan had felt anything that remotely resembled love she would have agreed not to do the ad simply out of respect for her lover.

If you love someone, you don’t do anything to purposely upset them, do you?

Cat asked herself this question over and over as she finally felt the last traces of Dylan’s touch leave her body and she slipped into an emotionally exhausted slumber.

*******

Dylan laid across her large bed, naked save for the T-shirt she’d hastily yanked on after Cat had stormed from the house. Ever vigilant to their Mistress’ moods, Siegfried, the chicken, had repaired to the far corner of the house, while Brunhilde laid with her head in Dylan’s lap, looking up at her with eyes both sorrowful and compassionate. Dylan stroked Brunhilde’s sleek head with an absent hand as she peered at the smoothed-out ad mock-up held in the other.

As she looked at the ad, the voices of Horace and Cat swirled through her head in an unending loop, only serving to increase the pain in her head and in her heart.

"Why is it that every time I deal with you I feel like a street corner whore?"

"You don’t really want me to answer that do you."

"You don’t see anything wrong with this, do you."

"You be a good little coach and keep me happy, and I’ll stay away from the dyke."

"No. You just…do whatever it is you feel you have to do."

"You be a good little coach and keep me happy, and I’ll stay away from the dyke."

"Goodnight, Coach. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow."

"You be a good little coach and keep me happy, and I’ll stay away from the dyke."

"I know where the door is. I’ll let myself out."

Tossing the glossy away as if it had suddenly grown fangs and was threatening to bite, Dylan cradled her head in both hands, her face set in a hard grimace, teeth bared, eyes tightly closed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!!!"

*******

Morning was not kind to the young woman, but as she stood in the blistering hot shower, she came to a serious decision. It was time to walk away from Dylan Lambert and chalk her time with the woman up to life experience.

She was old enough to know she was young and that most people go through several lovers before they find the ‘right’ one. Apparently Dylan wasn’t the right one.

Even as her brain processed all this, her heart hurt and she knew it would be a long time before it stopped aching. She had believed that Dylan was the one.

Dressing in her sweats she packed her bag for practice and fed the dog. He looked up at her with sad brown eyes. He knew something was wrong, but there was little he could do to help his human.

Cat drove to the arena and dressed with little chatter as the rest of her teammates tried to bring her out of her funk. They knew if she was in a bad mood she wouldn’t play well and it would aggravate the coach who would work them harder.

Chaney sat down and bumped shoulder with the blonde. "You okay?"

"Yeah I’m fine."

"You act like someone pissed in you Wheaties."

"You could say that."

"Okay look, you know I’m here for you and you can sit up and have a bitchfest of epic proportions, but after practice. Try and cheer up to Coach will kick our butts."

"’Kay. Hey Chane?"

"Yeah?"

" Can we go out after practice? I just need someone to talk to."

"Absolutely."

"Great. Thanks."

"No problem shortchange."

Cat took a deep breath and decided that her teammates shouldn’t pay for her stupid mistake. She plastered a smile on her face and headed out to the court.

The smile fell away when she saw Dylan. She sucked in a quick breath and fortified herself as she walked over to where everyone was looking at a diagram of a new play.

"Cat," Dylan said with a smile and a nod.

"Coach," Cat replied never taking her eyes off the diagram.

Suddenly Chaney knew who pissed in Catherine’s Wheaties. Oh boy.

*******

Sitting on a locker-room bench, Cat was tying her sneakers and deep in thought when a hand on her shoulder almost launched her into orbit.

"Hey."

Dylan’s voice was low and vibrant as it hovered in the still, humid air of the locker room, filling Cat with a warmth she was quick to quash. "Hi," she relied, her tone cool and clipped.

"Do you have a minute?"

"Actually," she replied, making a show of looking at her watch, "I’ve got plans for this evening. Unless it’s about work, it’s going to have to wait."

The warmth of Dylan’s hand and presence was withdrawn as the tall woman straightened. Her expression was carefully neutral, though Cat thought she caught just the tiniest fleeting glimpse of pain in those remarkable eyes before it was immediately masked.

Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking on her part.

"I’ll see you tomorrow, then."

And like that, Dylan was gone, and the pain Cat thought she saw in Dylan’s eyes settled instead around her own heart. With a heavy sigh, she lifted herself from the bench, grabbed her duffle, and left the garishly painted locker-room, her mind a jumble of thoughts and emotions, none of them pleasant.

*******

Chaney sat in the back booth of the restaurant, watching Cat pick at her pasta. Her friend had been quiet all night and the player knew something was definitely wrong. While Cat Hodges was many things, quiet was not among them.

"Okay, you gonna tell me what’s wrong, or are we going to just sit here all night and listen to our hair grow?"

Cat looked up from her now tepid dish and tried to smile but failed miserably. She dropped her gaze back to her plate again, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"C’mon, Cat, whatever it is, it can’t be that bad. Can it?" Many scenarios were running through her head, most of them having to do with the mega cold shoulder Cat had given their coach all through practice. The attitude was very much unlike the woman she’d come to know, and it puzzled her, distracting her enough to get called out by Herr Caulley and forced to do windsprints till her lungs threatened a dramatic exit through her mouth.

"Have you ever been in love?"

The question, from seemingly out of nowhere, so derailed Chaney’s train of thought that she almost choked on the water she’s sipping. It was only with the greatest of difficulty that she managed to force the liquid down the right pipe, and the resulting prolonged silence caused Cat’s cheeks to flush again.

"Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry."

"You didn’t pry," Chaney forced out quickly, holding up a hand as she replaced her glass back on the table. "I just…wasn’t expecting the question is all."

"Oh." Cat’s voice was very small.

Chaney decided that "matter of fact" was probably the best approach. "Yeah," she remarked casually, "I did the love thing once or twice. How come?"

Cat’s mouth worked soundlessly for several seconds, and her head dropped, tendrils of fine golden hair hiding her chagrinned features. "It’s…."she finally managed, "…nothing."

"Course it’s something, Shortchange," Chaney replied, reaching over and laying a hand on Cat’s wrist. "You been acting like someone ran over your dog all damn day. So…what is it? I won’t laugh at you or nothing. You know that." A moment later. "You got girl troubles?"

Cat laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound, but it beat crying, she supposed. Especially in the middle of a crowded restaurant. "You…could say that."

"What happened?" Chaney’s face went dead serious as she sat up straight in her chair, muscles tense. "Bitch cheat on you?"

Cat looked up, startled. "No! No, not at all."

"Hit you?"

"No!! No. We, um, we just had a fight, that’s all. You know, yelling, stuff like that."

Chaney’s face cleared. "A fight? Damn, girl, ain’t no one told you fighting’s good for a relationship?" She leered. "Especially the make-up sex part."

Blushing to the roots of her hair, Cat buried her flaming face in her hands and groaned.

Squeezing the wrist beneath her hand, Chaney grinned, then sat back in her chair, picking up her glass and finishing her water in one healthy gulp. "This your first serious relationship?" she asked after a time.

Cat looked back up at her, a rosy flush still faintly tinting her cheeks. "First? No. But it was the most serious."

"Was? You tossing in the towel over a fight?" Chaney shook her head. "Musta been one hell of a row."

"No. It—." She sighed. "When you were, you know, with someone, did they ever want to do something that you were totally against? I mean completely?"

"You mean like screw someone else or do something illegal?"

"No. No, not like that. Just—something you didn’t agree with, and something that surprised you because you thought they wouldn’t agree with it either?" She peeked at Chaney. "Am I making any sense here?"

"Yeah, yeah. Hang on, lemme think a minute." Her face cleared. "I was going out with this dude once, during college. It had been kinda casual for a long time, but then it started getting more serious, ya know? Anyway, it was getting close to spring break, and I was all about getting ready for the tourney and shit. He wasn’t ever into b-ball, which is probably why we got along so well."

"What happened?" Cat asked.

Chaney shrugged. "I figured he’d do the whole tourney thing, but he told me he’d gotten the deal of a lifetime, to go to Maui with his frat boys and their sister house on spring break." She chuckled, shaking her head over the memories. "Man, we fought like fuckin’ banshees over that, lemme clue you."

"And then what?"

Chaney shrugged again. "We talked. Worked it out. Both of us had things that we would never get the chance to do again. So we did ‘em."

"We did that," Cat said.

"What? Talked?"

"Yea! She wouldn’t—she wouldn’t…." She stopped as her face drained of its color. "Fuck."

"What?" Chaney asked, startled. "What’s wrong?"

Cat was silent for a few moments, playing the conversation with Dylan over in her head. "Jesus," she whispered.

"What?" Chaney demanded. "What is it? Damnit, woman, you’re scaring me over here!"

"’You’re not saying anything. Why aren’t you saying anything?’"

"What? Cat, we need to get you some help. Quick. You’re going nutzo on me. I’ve been talking to you!"

"No. No. I just remembered. When D…" She stopped herself just in time. "When we had that fight. We weren’t talking. I was talking. Yelling. Screaming. Storming off like some kid who just got told they couldn’t go to the prom. Damnit! How could I have been so damned stupid?!"

"Hey, man," Chaney said softly, closing her large hand over Cat’s wrist gently. "It’s all cool. If she loves you, she’ll forgive you. Just talk to her."

"That’s just it." Cat’s sad gaze met her friend’s. "I don’t know if she loves me."

"You don’t?"

"No. She’s never said."

"Oh hell, Shortchange, you need the words? Does she act like she loves you?"

Cat didn’t even need to think about that one. "Yes. She does."

"Well, there ya go then. And if you need to hear the ‘l-word’ so bad, then just ask her!"

"I…I don’t know if I could do that."

"Shit, woman, you’re ready to give up now! What damage could be done by asking her? You’ve already decided what the answer is gonna be, without even givin’ her the benefit of the doubt."

"Am I…? Shit. That’s exactly what I’m doing, isn’t it."

"Yeah. It is, Shortchange. Now, I’m not sayin’ that whatever it was that you’re arguin’ about is a good or bad thing, cause I don’t know, and I don’t think I wanna know. But…don’t ya think maybe you should talk to her first? Then make a decision based on what she says, rather than what you think she’s gonna say?"

"I…I don’t know." When she met Chaney’s eyes again, her expression was bleak. "I’m scared."

"Aww." Standing, Chaney walked around the table, squatted down, and gathered Cat into her arms, offering comfort the best way she knew how. "It’s okay, Shortchange. We all get scared over these things sometimes. We’re human, ya know?" Pulling back, she smiled at her friend. "G’wan home and think things over, Cat. I know you’ll make the right move. You’re smart like that."

Cat offered a tremulous smile, wiping at leaking eyes. "I don’t…."

"You do. Now git!"

"But the check--!"

"You let me take care of that. You’ll owe me big time later. Now go."

With effort, Cat managed to stand. "Thanks, Chane," she whispered.

"Anytime, Shortchange. See ya tomorrow at practice, ok?"

"Ok."

Chaney returned to her seat after Cat left the restaurant and, after a moment, a stunned, amazed grin spread over her face. "Holy shit!" she whispered. "Cat’s shaggin the Coach!"

*******

Early the next morning, before the sun had fully risen, Cat found herself outside of Dylan’s house, pacing nervously back and forth next to her car and having an intense, if internal, conversation. Alright, Cat. You can do this. It’s not like she’s gonna bite your head off or anything. She’s a reasonable person, right? Right. So go up there, tell her you acted like a total ass, beg her for her forgiveness, and…

She’d never been able to get past that stupid ‘and’ part despite her best efforts.

Before she had a chance to screw on her courage, the door opened and Dylan peered out, her face a mask of non-emotion, one eyebrow raised. "Would you like to come in, or were you planning on standing out there all morning talking to yourself?"

Startled, Cat blushed a deep red, shamed at being caught out like this. She fought down the almost overwhelming urge to jump back into her car and drive away. "I’m sorry. I…."

Taking a step back, Dylan opened the door wider in invitation. "C’mon in."

Slowly, with hesitant steps, Cat approached the house and slipped inside, careful not to touch the woman holding the door, lest her hard-fought resolutions crumble away to dust.

Respecting the space between them, Dylan led Cat into the living room and gestured for her to take a seat on the couch. Dylan looked down at her, hands hanging loose at her sides. "Was there something you wanted?"

"I…um…." her voice trailed off as she realized, for the first time, what Dylan was wearing. Clad in black dress slacks and a pale blue silk top that set off the color of her eyes, Dylan was, to Cat’s eyes, a vision. "I’m keeping you from something. I should just--."

"I have time," Dylan replied, her voice level. "The photo-shoot’s at ten."

"That’s," Cat stated quickly, "what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Go on."

"I wanted…I…God, this is hard." She sighed, looking down at her clasped hands. "I wanted to say that I was…sorry…for acting like an ass the other night. I wish I could say that I didn’t know what came over me, but the truth is, I do. I was… jealous." Taking a deep breath, she let the rest of the words tumble out. "I was jealous, and instead of talking to you about my feelings, I battered you with them, then ran away like an idiot. I acted irrationally, and I’m sorry."

Winding down, she continued to stare at her hands until to silence became too uncomfortable to bear. Sneaking a peek up at Dylan through her lashes, she swallowed hard at the mask the tall woman wore. Her heart clenched hard in her chest, and she fancied she could feel it fracture. The sting of tears came to her eyes, but she blinked them away before they could fall.

Never again, she told herself, unclasping her hands and setting them on the couch, prepared to push herself up and leave. I’ll never put my heart on the line again. It’s just too damn painful.

As she stood, she turned her face away from Dylan, unable to look at that stony mask one second more. "I…guess I’ll see you at practice, then. I’m sorry to have taken up your time."

She had almost made it to the door when Dylan’s soft voice halted her steps.

"Why were you jealous?"

"That’s a good question," Cat replied, barely aware she was speaking aloud. "I’ve thought about it a lot during these past couple days, and I don’t think I can come up with an answer that would satisfy even me."

The silence behind her gained weight, oppressive as only such silences could ever be. Her heart beating so fast and so hard that she was sure it would pound itself right out of her chest, Cat gathered every scrap of courage she ever possessed, and gave voice to the one question she wanted…needed…answered.

"Dylan," she began softly, so softly that Dylan, even with her exceptional hearing, had to strain to hear her, "do you love me?"

Silence reigned again, for just a moment. "Excuse me?"

Whirling, Cat pinned Dylan in place with a gaze that was open, honest, and deadly serious. "I need to know. Do you love me?"

"Yes."

It was amazing, Cat mused, how that one simple word could restore hope to a heart gone cold. Still, the smile that might have been expected stayed from her lips. "I think…I think that maybe part of my…jealousy…came from not…knowing…that." The silence was still thick, and Cat found herself turning her head away yet again. "I know it sounds like I’m dumping all of this on you, but I’m not. Not really. I guess I was just…scared…."

Not sensing any movement, Cat was startled at the sudden feel of long, strong arms wrapping themselves around her and the press of a tight, lean body against to hers. Emotionally drained, she could do nothing but melt into the enveloping warmth, her hands coming up to tangle in the fabric of Dylan’s shirt as if holding onto a lifeline. "I’m sorry," she whispered, voice muffled against the fabric covering her lover’s chest. "I’m so sorry."

"It’s okay," Dylan murmured, brushing her hand against Cat’s back in soothing circles. "It’s okay. I’m here. It’s okay." After a moment, she pulled away slightly and gently tipped the younger woman’s chin up so that their eyes met. "I love you, Catherine. I’m sorry that it’s taken me this long to tell you how I feel. I’m so—."

"No," Cat replied, touching a finger against Dylan’s full lips, "please, don’t apologize for my insecurities. My heart knew your answer before I even asked the question. I know you love me, and I knew it then. I just…."

"Cat, if this photo shoot bothers you so much, I’ll call Horace and tell him to shove it. I don’t want you hurting like this."

"Dylan, I can’t ask that of you, and I won’t. This is a part of who you are, a part of who you’ve always been. I absolutely hate the way you were coerced into it, and I hate being a part of that, but I also realize that it bothers me a lot more than it bothers you." She smiled. "I trust you. I think…I think I just need to learn how to trust myself."

Dylan was silent for such a long time that Cat began to fear that she’d misspoken. Finally, the tall woman’s expression cleared and she looked down at her partner intently. "If you don’t have any plans for the morning, why not come to the shoot with me?"

"Oh," Cat demurred, "I’m not sure I—."

"Please. I think it would really help you to see what goes on during these things. I think you’ve built an image up in your mind that nothing but experience is gonna erase. I don’t want that image coming between us, Cat."

Cat looked up at her pensively.

"Please."

Taking in the naked plea in those arresting eyes, Cat can do nothing but not her acceptance. The kiss she received in thanks drove any further apprehension from her mind.

*******

The photography studio was large and well-appointed, and Cat found her nerves settling just a little as they walked in and were greeted by Cory, the photographer’s assistant. Cory was a well dressed, reed thin young man with a thick mop of curly red hair and a bubbly, welcoming personality. Leading them over to a nattily upholstered couch in the rather large sitting room off to one side, he slipped a bottle of juice into Dylan’s hand and a steaming cup of coffee into Cat’s. "Now you just wait right here and I’ll get Wendy. She’s putting the finishing touches on the layout."

Dylan and Cat exchanged amused looks as he hurried off, babbling to himself. Quaffing her juice in several large gulps, Dylan stood to throw the bottle away just as the chimes above the door sounded. Straightening, she grinned as the immaculately dressed and almost criminally handsome Marquis Jackson strode through the door, followed by his equally exquisite wife Marcelle.

Spying Dylan, Marquis beamed and moved to engulf her in a massive hug which Dylan returned in full measure. Cat looked on, astonished at seeing her lover so dwarfed. They were both of a height, but Jackson was much broader across the shoulders and chest, making Dylan look almost petite within the enshrouding shelter of his massive arms. Finally pulling away, he grinned at her, white teeth flashing brilliantly against the ebony of his skin. "Damn, girl! You’re looking fine! Where’ve you been, lately?"

"Around," Dylan replied, turning to the young woman standing at Marquis’ side. "Marcelle, it’s good to see you again."

Laughing lightly, genuinely, Marcelle stepped into Dylan’s fond embrace and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. "He’s right," she said. "You look wonderful."

"So do you. You been keeping him in line?"

"Oh," Marcelle smirked, "he knows what side his bread’s buttered on."

The three shared a laugh. Dylan then turned to Cat and held out a hand. Coming to her feet, Cat crossed the room and smiled at the newcomers. Marquis Jackson she recognized easily—who wouldn’t? He was to men’s basketball what Dylan was to women’s. The best player ever. When he turned his smile on her, she had, she admitted silently, a bit of a fan geek moment, though it was nothing compared to the feeling that came over her when she heard Dylan’s casually spoken words.

"Marquis, Marcelle, I’d like you to meet Catherine Hodges, my partner."

"Oh ho!" Marcelle quipped, turning to Cat with a wide, knowing grin. "So you’re the reason she’s been behaving herself, huh?"

Cat found herself blushing deeply as the beautiful woman bent forward and gave her a hug. "You take good care of her, alright?" Marcelle whispered in her ear. "She means a lot to us."

"I will," Cat replied, dazed. "I promise."

Her sense of unreality trebled as Marquis stepped over and hugged her tightly, the scent of his cologne tingling pleasantly in her nose. "I’ve seen you on TV," he said, finally pulling away. "You’re pretty damn good!"

Tongue tied, she could only blink at him, wondering if pinching herself to assure herself this wasn’t a dream was proper protocol in such a situation.

Dylan’s arm around her shoulder thankfully brought her back to planet Earth before she could embarrass herself any further. She felt herself being led back to the couch, and she lowered herself, a bit unsteadily, then offered a smile to Marcelle who eased in beside her.

"First time at one of these shindigs?"

"Yes," Cat replied, quite pleased at her ability to actually utter those words aloud. A few feet away, Dylan and Marquis were deep in conversation about something. Basketball, probably.

"They’re not too bad, once you get used to having the one you love prowl around half naked like some porn star for all the world to see."

Reality came back to Cat in a flash, and she looked over at Marcelle, stunned. "You feel that way too?"

"Not as much anymore," the young woman replied. "But at first, yeah, it was pretty bad."

"Bad how?"

"You know, the usual." She shrugged. "Jealousy, mostly."

"Been there, definitely done that! What made it better for you?"

Marcelle lifted an elegant hand. "Watching what goes on behind the scenes. It’s work, plain and simple. They know it, I know it, and after this, you’ll know it too."

"I hope you’re right," Cat grumbled, slumping back against the couch.

"You’ll see."

At that moment, Cory stepped back into the room, trailed by a young, attractive, blonde-haired, woman who was even shorter than Cat herself. Stopping before Dylan and Marquis, she greeted them with a friendly grin, then murmured something to them both. Nodding, they left the room behind the ever-efficient Cory. The young woman then turned her bright grin on Cat and Marcelle, approaching them with a quick, no-nonsense step. "Mrs. Jackson, it’s a pleasure to see you again."

"Hey, Wendy," Marcelle returned with a grin. "You’re gonna take care of him, right? He’s just getting over a pulled hamstring."

"I promise to have him back in one piece."

"I like the way you think, girl."

When the young photographer turned to Cat, her grin became a little shy. "Ms. Hodges. It’s an honor to meet you, Ma’am."

"Cat, please," she replied, charmed.

To Cat’s surprise, the photographer blushed, just slightly. "Ah, yes, well…I’ve set up a couple of chairs a little closer to the action, if you ladies would like to follow me?"

As Wendy moved away, Marcelle stood and tipped a wink to Cat. "Looks like D isn’t the only one with a fan club, hmm?"

It was Cat’s turn to blush.

Laughing, Marcelle led the way to the two director’s style chairs that were set up to the left of the shooting area, which displayed a plain white backdrop, a professional lighting setup, a tripod, and several cameras.

As she settled herself in, Cat looked to Marcelle, who was giving the area a casual once over. "Marquis and Dylan seem like good friends. Have you guys known each other long?"

"Since college. Marquis and I were high school sweethearts, and we both went to UCLA on scholarship. Marquis, of course, for basketball."

"And you?"

Marcelle smiled. "Pre-law."

"Impressive. I’ve always been interested in law."

"Well, I passed the bar, but I’m not practicing."

"Why?"

"I like traveling with Marquis too much, and he likes having me there, so…." She shrugged. "When he retires, I’ll set up a nice little estate law practice somewhere and work to my heart’s content."

Before Cat could ask anymore questions, the door to the back room opened and Marquis stepped out. Cat’s jaw dropped as if unhinged and she felt her eyes actually press from their sockets. He strode confidently across the room, more god than man, his ebony skin oiled to a high sheen, his muscles rippling and cut to diamond perfection. He was naked save for white high-top Nikes and a black g-string that would have left absolutely nothing to the imagination—had there been anything to look at.

"It’s called ‘tucking’."

Marcelle’s amused voice cut through Cat’s haze and she found herself, once again, blushing furiously. "I…um…I…."

Marcelle’s laughter was rich and full as she reached over and gave Cat’s shoulder a friendly smack. "Breathe, my friend. It’s alright."

Any breath Cat might have taken whooshed right out of her as the door opened again and Dylan stepped through. "Blessed Mary," she gasped, her eyes wide and round as saucers.

Like Marquis, every inch of Dylan’s magnificent form was oiled to a high, wet gloss. Her engorged muscles, shot through with plump veins, were chiseled, standing out in bas relief against the flawless silk of her skin. Her hair, wet and drawn off of her face, trailed down her back in a shining, fat ebony braid, throwing her striking features into high, gorgeous definition. And like her photo mate, she was also naked, save for black high top Nikes, a flesh-colored g-string. A pair of small pasties had been added in deference to her gender.

"They make a beautiful couple, don’t they."

Marcelle could have been speaking Martian for all Cat understood of her words. Her body was too busy trying to coerce her into doing something that was illegal in thirty seven states. At least in public. And when Cory entered the frey, water bottle in hand, and started spritzing "fake sweat" on them both, she considered chucking it all and dragging Dylan off somewhere a little more private.

Like the middle of Times Square.

On New Year’s Eve.

At this point, even the parking lot would do in a pinch.

Or that nice roomy couch just a few short steps away.

Mmm.

"Earth to Cat." A dark, perfectly manicured hand waved itself before her dazed eyes. "Earth to Cat, come in, Cat. Yoo hoo. You in there?"

Blinking, Cat forced herself out of a fantasy that was growing more lurid by the second. "Hmm?"

A warm hand on her shoulder completed the break, and she found herself looking up into the concerned eyes of her partner.

"You ok?"

"Mm? Me? Juuuuust fine."

Snorting softly, Dylan rolled her eyes, and gave Cat’s shoulder a fond squeeze before stepping away. "Keep an eye on her, will ya?" she asked Marcelle as she moved to stand beside Marquis.

"And off of your beautiful bod? Not a chance!"

"Hey!" Cat snapped, grinning. "You just keep your eyes on that gorgeous god of a husband you’ve got there, missy. I’ll keep my eyes on Dylan, thank you very much."

The room broke up into relieved laughter, and with that, the session started.

*******

"Jesus," Cat murmured, looking down at the stark, black and white proof in her hand. The image of Dylan and Marquis, shining and covered with sweat, melded face to face, chest to chest, belly to belly, thigh to thigh was quite possibly the most erotic thing she’d ever seen. "I think Nike’s gonna have a banner year when this baby hits the newsstands."

"Screw Nike," Marcelle exclaimed, holding her own proof. "I’m gonna use this to wallpaper the bedroom! My folks’ve been pestering us for grandkids. This baby just might do the trick!"

Cat laughed, but couldn’t disagree, given how her body felt this very moment just looking at the picture before her.

Just then, the door opened and Cory emerged, followed by the stars of the show, dressed in their street clothes. Dylan’s hair was still swept back off her face, and Cat gave a little internal cheer. She had plans, big ones, and this image of her lover fit into them perfectly.

"Was it as bad as you thought it was gonna be?" Dylan asked, coming to stand beside her and slipping a companionable arm around her shoulder.

"You can invite me to one of these shindigs any time you want to, my dear."

Dylan grinned. "I had a feeling you might see it my way." She looked up, then released Cat to give Marcelle and Marquis a hug. "Good luck the rest of the season, Marquis."

"You too, D. And listen, Marcelle and I are gonna be having a dinner party in about a month or so. Just some of the old gang, you know, kick back, shoot the shit. You and Cat are invited, alright?"

"Please say you’ll come," Marcelle interjected sincerely. "We miss you!"

"Wouldn’t miss it," Dylan replied after exchanging glances with Cat.

"Great!" Marquis replied, turning to Cat. "Good to meet you, li’l Cat. Keep cool, alright?"

"I’ll do my best. Good luck on your season."

"Thanks!" Miming a fake jumper from the top of the key, he gathered his grinning wife and, like that, they were gone.

"Shall we?" Dylan asked.

"After you."

Once they were situated in the car, Dylan checked her watch. "Well, we’ve got about an hour or so to kill. Wanna get to the arena early and warm up a little?"

"Only if we stop by your office first," Cat replied, glancing down at the photo she still held in her hand.

"My office?"

"Oh yeah."

"But wh--?"

She was stopped by a finger to her lips.

"Believe me, Dylan. Either we get to your office in, oh, the next five minutes or so, or I’m not gonna be responsible for what the police might see when they tour this parking lot."

The light finally dawned, causing Dylan to grin. "My office it is."

"Hurry."

*******

"Sweet….Jesus!" Cat gasped out before collapsing atop her lover’s long, sweat-slicked form. Her heart was thundering in her chest, and her muscles, those few that were still working, seemed to have a mind of their own.

Gentle hands trailed through her hair and down her back, calming her as she shuddered with the last vestiges of her explosive climax. "It’s ok," Dylan whispered. "It’s alright, sweetheart, just breathe. You’re okay."

Calming at last, Cat tipped her head up and pressed her lips against Dylan’s neck, just beneath her jaw, tasting the salty flesh with a hum of pleasure. "I love you," she murmured.

"Mm. I love you too, sweetheart. Oh, that feels nice."

"I know." Moving over just slightly, she stroked a hand down the muscled flesh beneath her, stopping briefly to trace the tip of one finger around Dylan’s bellybutton, causing a muffled snort from her companion.

"Ticklish?" Cat teased as her finger began another circle.

"Be good." The tall woman growled playfully, catching her lover’s hand up in her own.

"Oh, I plan on being very good, my love." Pulling her hand away, she trailed her fingers further down, soon encountering a scorching, velvet heat. Stroking through it, her fingers weaved nonsensical patterns over Dylan’s swollen flesh. She smiled as she felt Dylan’s hips begin to move against her, their flesh sliding together in a sensual dance that quickened her breathing once again.

Cat felt long, strong fingers tangle in her hair and opened her eyes to see blazing indigo staring down at her. The hunger in Dylan’s eyes took her breath away, and the incendiary kiss that followed robbed her lungs completely. Cat swallowed her lover’s low moan as her fingers continued to circle and stroke, gliding easily in the slick wetness that was all but pouring over her hand.

Dylan finally broke the kiss, turning her head away as her lips parted and groaning pants filled the room with their sensual music. "Cat…."

"Yes, love…."

"Cat….I….God!" Dylan’s head moved back and forth on the couch’s arm, the wet tendrils of her hair sliding across the leather like a snake. Her entire body undulated under Cat’s knowledgeable caresses. One long leg slid off the couch, opening her fully to her lover.

"What is it?" Cat purred. "What can I do?" She moved her fingers more firmly in a slow, swirling pattern that she knew Dylan loved.

"I…God!…I…."

"Tell me, lover."

"Fuck me. God…just…fuck me."

With a low laugh, Cat did as she was bid, sliding her fingers deep within and twisting them as she withdrew.

Dylan’s cry of relief was nearly a sob as her whole body sprung into motion, hips pistoning against Cat’s steady, twisting thrusts. "So deep," she moaned. "God, you’re so deep."

"Let it come," Cat whispered. "Feel me, and let it come." Increasing the force of her thrusts, she lowered her head, blindly seeking out a rock hard nipple and sucking it into her mouth. With one final thrust, she bit down, and held on as Dylan released beneath her, crying out her name over and over and over again until finally, she sunk back into the softness of leather, completely spent.

Slowly withdrawing, Cat gently cupped Dylan’s mound and released the nipple from her mouth, laying upon it a tender kiss before resting her head on her lover’s still heaving chest. "I love you, you know."

That earned her a full body hug from muscles that were still trembling. With a sweet smile, she burrowed in, needing nothing more than to listen to Dylan’s heart as it slowly, valiantly calmed.

*******

Cat woke up from a short doze, blinked, and lifted her head, chuckling lightly.

"What?" Dylan asked, her own voice muzzy.

"I can’t believe we just made love on your office couch. In the middle of the day. When anyone could have walked right in and had themselves an eyeful."

"Nah," Dylan replied, stretching her long body taut, then collapsing back against the damp leather. "Made sure the door was locked." One blue eye popped open. "I think."

Cat’s head jerked up, eyes wide. "Dylan!?!"

Dylan laughed and gathered her lover close. "Just kidding. I gave the office staff the rest of the day off, remember?"

"Hardly," Cat snorted. "My mind wasn’t exactly on conversation at the time."

"Mm. You’re right." The husky purr threatened spark the bonfire once again, and she groaned.

"You realize that the coach has made it quite impossible for her point guard to practice today, don’t you?"

"Practice started an hour ago," Dylan replied, then tightened her hold on her lover to prevent Cat from bolting. "Relax, sweetheart. I already called us in sick."

"Sick?! You called us in sick!?"

Dylan lifted her head and peered down at her companion, one eyebrow raised. "Would you rather I told them the truth?"

"I suppose you’re right."

"’Course I am." Long arms tightened around Cat as she shivered. "Cold?"

"As hard as it is for me to believe, seeing as I’m lying on top of a thermonuclear furnace, yeah. A little."

"Guess we should get up and put on some clothes, then."

"Don’t wanna."

Dylan chuckled. "Well, I know of another way we could warm up."

"Don’t start. It’ll be hard enough for me to walk out of here under my own power as it is. We keep this up, and you’ll be calling me out ‘sick’ for the rest of the week!"

"And that would be a bad thing…why?" Lowering her head, Dylan captured her lover’s tender lips, tracing them with the very tip of her fluttering tongue before delving inside and tasting her sweetness.

"Sick days rule," Cat murmured as they finally eased apart, gaining purchase on slippery flesh and welcoming Dylan’s long frame on top of her.

*******

Cat sat on the bench with her head down and her eyes closed. This was the game, the game she had been anticipating and dreading all at the same time.

This was the game that would decide the Badgers' fate. A win would send them to the play-offs. A loss would keep them from the championship this year and they would do their best to finish out the year on a high note.

Cat knew it wasn’t true in the long run, but she felt like this game would make or break her professional career. As a rookie, if she could help her team with this win, she would be set; if they lost she would bet that Horace would find a reason to get rid of her. By contract he couldn’t fire her but he could sure as hell trade her to some team that had five fans.

In her current contemplative state, she was barely aware of the chatter around her. Her teammates were their normal, boisterous selves. They were laughing, singing and doing their normal pre-game dances as they prepared to go out and play. She looked up when Chaney went dancing by and nudged her knee. Continuing to scan the room she could see Dylan in her office on the phone, which was not unusual though the look on her face was. Cat could tell Dylan Lambert was not a happy camper.

Bet she’s talking to Horace. Cat sighed, feeling sorry for her lover and the fact that the woman had to play buffer between the players and the asshole who owned the team.

She did manage to smile to herself, safe and secure in the knowledge that no matter what this game might bring, she and Dylan were all right. They had talked, she had cried, they had made up and Chaney had been right. The make up sex was wonderful.

She glanced down at her shoes, which she still hadn’t bothered to tie. Reaching down she pulled the laces together in tight knots, making sure that they wouldn’t come undone during play. She wiggled her toes in her shoes and took a deep breath to calm her frazzled nerves. No matter what happens, everything will be fine. One way or the other.

The arena was filled to capacity and as the team entered the cheers and screams of the fans was deafening. Cat wondered briefly if she would be able to play with all the noise, then she realized she had been doing it all season. This game shouldn’t be any different.

Quit making excuses for why you might blow this game and get your butt out there and win this thing. Win it for yourself; win it for Dylan and most of all win it for the team and the fans.

The house lights went down and the music started. The game was on.

*******

Cat watched as her teammates moved the ball down the court. Seven minutes into the first half they were down by two. It hadn’t helped that the opposing team had a seven-foot forward that looked like the progeny of an elf and some alien life form. The tip had sent the Badgers scurrying right away and no one on the team liked the unbalanced feeling it gave them. While they were trying to recover, the elf and her teammates took a five-point lead.

Tamara had completely shocked everyone when she broke through and shot a beautiful, nothing but net, three pointer to give the Badgers a much need boost. Cat carried herself down the court, watching or trying to watch every move around her and finding it nearly impossible.

She could feel the sweat starting to drip down her back and the muscles in her legs were already starting to burn and she knew it was going to be a long game.

She wasn’t sure were the next few minutes went, but what she would always be able to clearly recall was the ball in her hands, automatically turning for the net to line up her shot and the roar of every fan in the house as the ball dropped right through the net at the buzzer.

Cat’s world went into complete slow motion as her eyes drifted to the scoreboard and she saw that the Badger’s now had a two-point lead. It was going to be a hard lead to keep and a hard game to win.

She turned to leave the court for halftime her eyes fell on Dylan who was patting each player on the back, but her hers were firmly on Cat and the player knew the smile was for her.

In the locker room, Cat lay down on the floor immediately and used a bench to stretch her leg muscles. The rest of the team took their own places around the room, stretching, taking in fluid to re-hydrate bodies that were tired and worn already.

"That was a beautiful first half ladies. I am very proud of all of you," Dylan praised as she and the assistant coaches took their places in the center of the room. "The second half is going to be tough, but if you play it the way you played this one, we’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. How are you all doing? Is there anything I should know about?"

Cat managed to hold in the snort that threatened to bubble up. Dylan asked this question at every half time, expecting someone with a potential injury to speak up. To date no one had ever admitted there was anything wrong and Cat wondered how long it would be, if ever, that she would just stop asking.

"Hodges?"

"Yes Coach?"

"I noticed you’re fighting cramps out there. You okay?"

"Right as rain Coach. They’re just running me around like mad."

"You’re sure?"

Cat opened her eyes to find Dylan bent over at the waist looking down at her. She smiled and nodded. "I promise."

"Tippens," Dylan turned to the tall Australian center affectionately known as Roo. "How’s the wrist?"

"No worries, Coach. I’m good."

"I don’t want to risk it if it’s bothering you."

Tippens shook her head and sipped from a paper cup holding Gatorade. Dylan nodded and made a couple of notes in the book in her hands.

"The one thing you have to watch out there is Sorenson. She's been looking for the opportunity to hit all of you at your weakest spots, foul or not. I don’t think she cares and now that they’re down by two I expect her to try something. IF that happens, don’t be baited into a fight with the refs. Let me handle it."

The entire room answered in the unison that Dylan was looking for. "Yes Coach."

"Then let’s get back out there and give them a fight. I don’t need to tell you what this game means, but I will tell you, win or lose, I’m proud as hell of you. This team has really come together this season and we’ve come further than a lot of our critics like at the moment. So go give them a good show."

*******

Catherine took the ball and put it into play, shooting to Mackey who began a hard charge down court. Cat moved up from behind and was getting her bearings when a warning whistle sounded and all movement stopped. She looked for the referee making the call and found that Chaney had been called for a foul against a guard.

"Shit!" Cat groaned as she trotted down the court to find out what was going on and she could see that Chaney was about to go off.

"That b…" Chaney was getting ready to charge when Cat put her hand in her chest.

"Stop!" Cat ducked so she could put her face in Chaney’s. "Just stop. If there’s a problem, Coach will handle it."

Before Chaney could say anything else the whistle blew and the ball was back in play and the Nitro had control.

"Shit," Cat mumbled, running into play. "It’s going to be a long 20 minutes."

Dylan paced as was quite normal for the coach. She always managed to sweat almost as much as the players just from working a rut into the floor. Her attention was fairly evenly divided between the players but most of her attention was on Cat, not because of their relationship but because she could see the player favoring her right leg.

"Fuck," Dylan breathed as she called for a time out.

As the team made its way to the bench, she gestured for Cat to take a seat and tapped her replacement. After giving them a few words and a new play she sent them back onto the court and resumed pacing. Cat shot daggers at her back from the bench, then she picked up a towel and rubbed down her face, leaving it buried in the soft material so she wouldn’t be tempted to mouth something inappropriate when Dylan turned around.

She was startled when she felt hands on her leg. Peeking out from behind the towel she found the team doctor checking her out. "I’m fine."

"That’s not how it looked out there."

"Why won’t anyone listen to me?"

"Cat we’re concerned about you." The doctor tapped Cat’s leg to get her attention. "Win or lose here tonight Cat, we still need you for the rest of the season. You’ve scored 15 points tonight; you’ve done your share. We can’t risk you injuring this leg. Let us take care of you."

Cat looked over to Dylan who was yelling to the players from the sideline. She considered the doctor’s words as she thought of the legs under the neatly pressed slacks and the scars on the knee that kept the best player in the league from ever taking the court again. "All right."

The doctor retrieved a cold pack from her medic bag and wrapped it in a towel, which was wrapped around Cat’s leg. "Just rest and we’ll do some therapy after the game."

Cat nodded and accepted the cup of water that was offered. Now that she was off the leg it was starting to throb and she knew while she wasn’t seriously hurt, all the quick movements she had been required to make tonight had irritated her calf and knee. They had a three-day break before the next game and if she behaved herself then this strain wouldn’t be an issue.

Dylan took a moment to sit on the bench next to Cat, she figured she would give the player a chance to rant a bit and get it out of her system. She wanted it over and done with so it wouldn’t interfere with their weekend. She hadn’t spent an obscene amount of money for a bungalow with a private beach in the Caribbean for nothing.

"Nice call Coach." Cat whispered as they watched Chaney assist with a beautiful three pointer.

"Thanks."

The noise in the locker room was nearly as deafening as the arena. Cat sat with her leg submerged in a whirlpool, while the rest of her sat on the rim drinking a glass of champagne, which had been somehow magically waiting for them when they got back to the locker room.

"Didn’t think we’d win my ass," Cat mumbled to herself as she sipped from her very own plastic glass. Dylan was moving around the room looking very much like a proud parent. Her team was on its way to the playoffs for a shot at the championship. Regardless of what happened now it had been a very good season for Dylan Lambert and the Badgers.

********

Cat lay on her back, the sun shining down on her bikini clad body. She hadn't realized how badly she needed this vacation until she and Dylan had hit the beach this morning. The player hadn't done a blessed thing other than coat her body in suntan oil and drink juice that Dylan continually kept replenishing.

The only sounds around her were the surf and the wind rustling the trees behind them. She glanced over to find her partner lying on her stomach, eyes closed apparently dozing. Cat decided this was bliss. No games, no practice, no demands on her or Dylan. They were free to do what they wanted, eat, sleep or make love. They had done all those activities since arriving yesterday afternoon and Cat was feeling the need for a bit more of number three.

"Hey?" she said softly, so that if Dylan was really asleep she wasn't going to disturb her.

One blue eye opened, followed by a smile. "Yeah?"

"Let's go back to the bungalow."

"'Kay'."

Picking up their beach blanket and the two glasses, holding their drinks they began the short walk up their private beach to the bungalow. Cat was pleased when Dylan reached out and took her hand. It was a rare show of affection in public and for Cat it spoke volumes about how Dylan felt about her.

The bungalow was small, one bedroom and bath, living room and a small kitchen, but for Catherine it felt like a palace. Here, away from the team and the press and the fans, they were free to be themselves. She liked that. She liked being with Dylan when there was nothing to guard against. When they could just relax and be like any other couple.

"Okay," a sexy grin slid across Dylan's lips. "You got me here, what did you have in mind?"

Catherine moved to her lover and wrapped her arms around her neck. "This." The kiss was passionate and left no room in Dylan's mind for questions. She backed Cat up and they fell to the sofa, a tangle of arms and legs, slick from tanning oil. The skin on skin contact was perfect. It didn't take either of them long to shed what little clothing they had.

******

The resort was five star, as Dylan had said when they arrived, `nothing but the best this trip'. Cat had expected to have to drag her one grown up outfit out of the closet for dinner and was pleasantly surprised when Dylan told her she could certainly go to dinner casual.

While her companion was dressed in a white polo and dark slacks, Cat had opted for a silk sweater and shorts. She decided that unless there was a real good reason to get dressed up she wasn't going to do it. The restaurant reflected the atmosphere of the Bahamas, right down to the waiters in safari shirts and shorts. In the center of the room was a waterfall decorated with local plant life and lit with red and blue lights. Large ceiling fans cooled the room but certainly didn't make it cold. Their table was next to a huge plate glass window affording them a beautiful view of the ocean at sunset. For Cat, her time here was just getting better and better.

They ordered their meals and sat making small talk, both of them purposely avoiding any conversation that even bordered on work. Dylan had been serious when she said she needed a vacation and she was bound and determined to relax.

The waiter placed their appetizers before them, before they could sample them and young girl of about eight hesitantly approached the table.

"Excuse me?" Her big brown eyes were settled firmly on Cat.

"Yes?"

"Are you Cat Hodges?"

"I am."

"Could, um…" The girl glanced at Dylan who sat with an indulgent smile. "Could I get your autograph?"

"Sure," Cat smiled and took the pen and napkin the girl hesitantly offered. "What's your name?"

"Amanda, but everyone calls me Mandy."

Cat smiled and autographed the napkin, folding the pen around it and handing it back. "It's a pleasure to meet you Mandy. Are you a basketball fan?"

"I love to watch you play. You're really good. Especially for someone who's so short."

Dylan couldn't hold back the laugh that bubbled up, but she tried to cover it by feigning a cough behind her fist.

Many turned to Dylan and ground her toe into the carpet. "Are you someone?"

Now it was Cat's turn to laugh, which she did as she sipped from her water.

"No, I'm nobody important."

"Okay." Mandy turned back to cat and offered her small hand to the player. "Thank you very much."

Cat took the young girl's hand and shook it very seriously. "You're very welcome."

Both women watched as the girl all but ran back across the room to where her family sat, proudly showing off her autograph. The girl's mother looked up and silently thanked Cat. Cat nodded and returned her attention to Dylan.

"What was that all about? What do you mean `you're no one'?"

"To her," Dylan gestured across the room, "I'm not. She's not even a Badger's fan. She's a Cat Hodges fan. You've begun charming the new generation of basketball fans."

"But still…"

"Cat, when you were growing up and thinking that you wanted to play, who inspired you?"

"You did, you know that."

"Right, and someday when little Mandy hopes to make that first draft pick, she'll think of you and how you inspired her to her dreams. It's not a bad thing Cat."

"See I just don't put myself in the same class as you."

"Maybe, it's time you started." Dylan smiled and sipped her wine as she watched Cat consider her words. "You're a great player and you have the ability to have your name in the record books. It will take time, but I'm sure in a few years you'll find that you won't be able to walk down the street without getting hit up for an autograph."

"Right."

"I'm serious, but you know what?"

"What?"

"That's as much talking about work as I want to do. I want to enjoy dinner, have a couple of drinks then take a moonlight walk on the beach."

"Oh such a romantic you are."

"I know." Dylan skewered a mushroom on her fork and popped it in her mouth.

*******

They walked down the beach, with their arms wrapped around each other's waist. Cat had to keep changing step to keep up with Dylan's longer stride. It actually turned into a bit of a game when Dylan intentionally changed her stride.

"Be good," Cat chastised playfully, giving the tall woman a playful slap to the stomach.

"It's fun to watch you jump."

"Heathen."

Cat tightened her hold on Dylan as they continued down the beach. They reached an outcropping of rocks and Dylan pulled Cat behind them to remove them from view. She titled Cat's head up so they were looking in each other's eyes. For Dylan the night was perfect. The air warm, the moon bright and there was something on her mind.

"I want to ask you something?"

"The answer is yes," Cat answered somewhat breathlessly, it was a common occurrence when she looked into Dylan's eyes.

"You don't even know what I was going to ask."

"I don't care."

Dylan chuckled, leaning down to kiss Cat tenderly. "Now be good and listen to my question."

"Yes ma'am." Cat nodded soberly, but the smile playing on her lips gave her seriousness away.

"After the season is over, would you like to move in with me?"

"What?"

"After the season is over…"

"I heard you, but…Dylan are you sure?"

"I am very sure. I've thought about it a lot. I remember how I felt when we had that problem over the shoot. I hated it. I hated being without you. I love you Catherine, I want to share my life with you."

"What about Horace?"

"Well, I didn't think we'd be sending out engraved announcements," she grinned, running her thumb over Cat's lips. "But I'll deal with Horace. Don't worry. And as long as we're discreet, everything will be fine. But before you answer I really want you to think it over.
It will mean both of us changing the way we live and I want to make sure you're ready to do that."

"It hasn't been that long since I was living at home."

"That's exactly what I mean. You're just now getting a real taste of freedom and I don't want to take that away from you. There is a huge difference between seeing someone on a regular basis and living with them."

"I know that."

"Then before you answer, think about it."

"I will. I promise."

"Good."

*******

There was no hesitation between them as they made love, they had learned each other's bodies and took great delight in each other. Dylan had learned quickly that Catherine was responsive to a light and gentle touch most of the time, but Cat knew almost instinctively that Dylan preferred something a little more `aggressive'.

There was never a moment that they didn't delight in each other's passions and make the effort to satisfy each other completely.

Cat curled up in front of Dylan, feeling the taller woman spoon tightly against her back. Cat's pulse was pounding and rushing in her ears and as she caught her breath she felt her body finally
relaxed. She smiled a satisfied little smile as she listened to Dylan's breathing even out as well.

"We should eat something." Cat mumbled, feeling sleepy but a bit hungry at the same time.

"Thanks, I'm full." Dylan teased, earning a chuckle from the body in front of her that caused them both to shake from the laugher. She pulled Cat's hair back and placed a kiss to a pink ear. "We can order something in."

"Chinese?"

"I suppose so. What is this thing you have for Chinese food after we make love?"

"I have no idea."

"Have you always been this way?"

"No, just with you."

Another kiss and Dylan rolled over, switching on the lamp next to the bed. Opening the draw in the nightstand she removed a blue tri-fold menu, which she handed over to her lover.

"This hotel thinks of everything don't they?"

"Nothing but the best." Dylan retrieved a glass of mineral water she had brought into the bedroom several hours ago and took a healthy drink.

"Little dehydrated?" Cat giggled as she perused the menu.

"Just a little. I think juice is in order," Dylan sat up on the edge of the bed and stretched, causing her spine to pop in several places. "Care for something?"

Cat looked at her lover with a leer and wriggled her brows.

"I mean from the kitchen you little smart ass."

"Oh well, if you're going to limit my options, apple juice if you please."

"When you order could you…"

Cat held up her hand. "Got it, one veggie special with extra tofu."

Cat rolled for the phone and picked up the receiver but didn't dial until she had watched Dylan's nude form disappear from the bedroom.

"I would really enjoy waking up to her every morning." Cat sighed as she waited for the restaurant to pick up.

*******

Dylan took Cat’s bag out of the trunk, handing it off to the player with a grin. "Thanks for a wonderful weekend."

Cat smiled, completely charmed by her lover. "Do you want to come in?"

"Nothing I’d like better, but I have to go home to get ready for a meeting."

"Horace?"

"Horace and a few other of his cronies. They’re going to give me better ideas on how to handle the team." She smirked, knowing she would hear only half of what they said, remember a quarter of that and care about even less. "No big deal. It’s my bimonthly dog and pony show."

"They don’t pay you enough for putting up with that bullshit."

"Tell me. If I didn’t love what I do, I swear I’d go teach high school ball somewhere."

"Well," Cat sighed, feeling truly sorry for her partner. "Try not to let him get to you."

"Oh don’t worry, Sweetheart. The last person in the world that’s going to get to me is Horace. Why don’t we have dinner tonight?"

"Sounds great. Let me cook for you. Come back around seven and we’ll have a quiet night in."

"Perfect." Dylan leaned over, giving the blonde a kiss on the cheek. "See you tonight."

*******

Dylan didn’t even bother to drop her bag at her house before heading over to Horace’s office. She hated these meetings, but they were part of her contract and nothing short of death was acceptable for missing them.

Locking her car and setting the alarm, Dylan noticed that the parking lot was empty of cars belonging to the other Horace idiots who regularly attended these meetings. "Oh this can’t be good," she mumbled under hear breath, heading into the building.

Exiting the elevator, Dylan took a deep breath before heading into the office. She hated this shit. She hated Horace and she hated the hoops he made her and the team jump through.

She knew in her heart that the only reason she didn’t tell him to take his job and shove it where a basketball won’t bounce is because of Cat and the other players who worked so damn hard to bring the Badgers out of near last place and put them in the playoffs. She knew that without her as a buffer a lot of women on the team would be having huge problems with the owner.

Horace knew that not all women who played professional basketball were lesbians, but that didn’t stop him from assuming that deep down they really wanted to be. The only one he had confirmation on was Cat and he already wanted to make her life miserable. The more she thought about him the madder she got and by the time she actually made it to the reception area it was all she could do to keep from shaking.

She did manage to smirk just a bit about the middle-aged secretary sitting behind the desk. It seemed that Horace’s wife wasn’t the wilting flower she pretended to be. The bimbo from the plane crash was fired about a week after they had returned and she had been replaced by this lovely woman who was married, and well aware of what a prick her new boss was, but she was damn good at her job and Dylan liked her a lot.

"Afternoon, Mrs. Garrison."

"Good afternoon Ms. Lambert. Mr. Johnson is expecting you."

"Oh goody for me." Dylan offered sarcastically. The secretary chuckled and nodded her understanding. "Could you take that pen and jab it in my eye?"

"Sorry," she apologized with a smile. "You have lovely eyes and it would be a shame to mar them because of him."

Dylan sighed, nodding as she walked toward the office door. "Things I’d rather do than go into his office. Root canal. Bamboo shoots under my fingernails. Frontal lobotomy."

With a deep drawn breath she turned the knob and opened the good.

She smiled to herself when a quiet ‘Good luck’ floated in behind her.

Horace was sitting behind his massive desk flipping through a file folder. There was cigar smoldering in the ashtray and a glass about half full of what Dylan figure was some cheap whiskey.

"Horace?"

He looked up at her, grunted what she assumed was supposed to be acknowledgment of her presence and he gestured to one of the chairs facing his desk.

Taking a seat, she waited until he was ready to talk. This was one of his tactics that he used to control someone he felt was uncontrollable. Finally he looked up and sneered, "I should fire your ass."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me the first time. So you thought you could fuck the blonde and I wouldn’t find out."

If Horace’s words in any way shocked Dylan she didn’t let it show. She just continued to watch him, hoping in a perverse sort of way he’d just have a heart attack right there in that chair.

"Not even gonna deny it, huh?"

"Why should I? You obviously seem to think you know what’s going on."

"Yeah," he nodded, glaring at her. "I know what’s going on. I know you’re banging the little bitch."

"Oh really."

His smirk was truly insufferable. "Oh yeah." With a flick of his fingers, he sent a sheet of paper sliding across the desk to stop in front of her. As she scanned the page, anger burned in the pit of her belly, causing her jaw to set and her eyes to blaze.

It was a mock-up of the front page of the Weekly World Ledger, a national gossip rag that hung out with the others of its smutty genre in the checkout aisles of most grocery chains, drugstores, and airport lounges. In lurid block letters, its headline screamed out "TEMPTATION IN THE TROPICS! BIKINI-CLAD BASKETBALL BEAUTIES IN LESBIAN LIP LOCK!!!"

Beneath the headline was a grainy, fuzzy picture of two figures—unfortunately all too recognizable despite the poor quality of the photography. The shorter of the two had her hands familiarly on the hips of the taller, and was standing on her toes in the sand, head tilted up for a kiss.

"So," she remarked as casually as she could manage, "is this what I have to look forward to when I go to pick up my groceries tomorrow?"

Johnson’s smirk broadened. "Well, I’d say that was entirely up to you."

"Oh?"

Chuckling, Horace clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, lifting his legs and placing his feet on his expansive desk. "Either way, the dyke is fired. You, however…."

"Fire her, and I walk, Horace."

"Do that, and I can assure you that you and the little skank you’re screwing won’t even be able to get a job coaching preschoolers, much less--."

The rest of his words were cut off as Dylan came over the desk at him. Pushing his legs off the desk, she grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and yanked forward so that they were nose to nose. "She’s not ‘bitch’, she’s not ‘whore’, she’s not ‘skank’. Her name is Catherine. Use it!"

"That’s it. I hope you like bulldagger givin’ it to you up the ass, Lambert, because that’s all you’re gonna be getting once I have that ass thrown in jail."

"Go ahead, you bigoted little bastard. Try it. And maybe while the cops are here, we can chat about how you set Cat up to be beaten bloody in the parking lot of your arena, hmm?"

It was only a suspicion, never spoken aloud, but the guess was more than confirmed by the sudden paleness of Johnson’s jowly face. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," he replied in a voice that suggested exactly the opposite.

The realization caused her hands to tighten on his jacket but she resisted, by the very slimmest of margins, lifting him bodily out of the chair and slamming him through the expensive paneling of his office wall. "I think you know exactly what I’m talking about, you maggot! Exactly!"

"Prove it!"

With great effort, she forced herself to relax her hold on him. Once she was sure her legs would hold her, she moved back across the desk, stood, straightened her clothing, and walked to the door. "I don’t have to," she replied, pinning him with a gaze that made him swallow hard. "You just proved it for me."

She had gotten the door open and was just starting to step through it when his voice floated over her shoulder. "You will pay for this. You realize that, don’t you?"

"You do what you have to do, Horace," she replied, not bothering to look at him. "You just do what you have to."

And then she left.

*******

The shakes hit her when she was halfway home, and she had to pull off to the side of the busy road before her jumped-up reflexes got her into an accident. The little voice that had taken up residence inside her head was screaming for her to turn the car around, go back to Johnson’s office, rip his spine out through his throat, and beat him to death with it. The more sensible, more rational part of her mind diffidently reminded her that she wouldn’t be much good to either herself or Cat from Death Row. The team’s need for her wasn’t even mentioned.

That part was hard to hear for the blood of anger driving through her veins and pounding at her eardrums, giving her a headache that would drop Shaquille O’Neal at a hundred paces. Clenching her fists and jaw only increased the adrenaline-fueled tremors, so, with great strength of will, she forced herself to completely relax, allowing her head to drop back against the padded headrest and closing her eyes.

Digging into her pocket, she brought out her small cellphone. One button pressed, and she held it up to her ear, waiting for the annoying ringing to be replaced by a human voice. "Mac, it’s Dylan."

"Yo, D! Long time, no talk!" His voice was staticy and crackly on the line. "Where are—wait, aren’t you supposed to be at the big bull meeting?"

"Yeah."

"What, did it end early or something?"

"In a manner of speaking." She drew the pads of her thumb and index finger over the tight band of muscle between and above her eyes, seeking to work out the headache before it consumed her.

"Define that, please." Mac’s voice went deep and somber. "Did something happen?"

"I need you to do me a favor, Mac."

"Wait. Hold up, here, big D. What the hell happened?"

"I suspect you’ll be hearing all about it soon enough, Mac. Let’s just say I almost popped the little prick’s head off and leave it at that, hmm?"

Absolute silence at the other end. Not even the static pulses dared to intrude.

Then, "Jesus Christ," blown out on a breath of air. "Please tell me you’re speaking metaphorically, Dylan."

"Look, I really don’t have time for this, Mac."

"Make time, Dylan. Tell me what’s going on! Please!"

"Not now, Mac. I can’t. Like I said, you’ll probably hear about it soon anyway."

"But—."

"I need your help. Please."

Another silence on the line, this one so long that Dylan came within a hairsbreadth of simply hanging up and dealing with things on her own.

"What do you need." Mac’s voice was resigned, but steady.

Taking in a deep breath, she began to tell him.

*******

The scent of home struck her as she walked through the door that Cat held open for her. Stopping in the entryway, she closed her eyes and breathed deep, letting the cherished smells calm her from the inside where she needed it most.

A hand on her arm caused her to open her eyes, and, reaching out, she gathered Cat in and held her closely, tightly, against her, resting her cheek atop the fair hair. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too, sweetheart," Cat murmured, listening to her lover’s racing heart beneath the thin cotton shirt she wore. She slowly pulled back enough to stare into the pale face and haunted eyes of her lover. "What’s wrong, Dylan?"

"It’s…alright."

"Hon, you’re as pale as a ghost and your heart is racing a mile a minute." Her expression sobered as a scowl drew down her brows. "It’s Johnson, isn’t it."

With a sigh, Dylan released Cat and nodded. "Yeah."

"That bastard. What the hell is it this time?! Is he blackmailing you again??"

"He tried to," Dylan admitted, walked over to the couch and slumped gracelessly down into it, hands splayed out limply between her thighs. "I refused." I almost tore his fucking head off too, she thought wryly, deciding not to mention that little tidbit to her bristling partner. That, and a few other things, I think. For now, at least. Until I’m sure, one way or the other.

Cat stared at her, hands on hips, green eyes angry and blazing, and one eyebrow cocked in silent query.

Dylan sighed again. "Some jackass photographer from one of those weekly gossip rags caught us on the beach sometime last week. They sent him a mock-up of the front page. He showed it to me."

"Jesus Christ!" Cat exploded, dropping her arms and beginning to pace. "Why can’t that fucking asshole just leave us alone?? Are we bothering anyone? No! Are we bothering him?! No!! What the…."

"Cat, calm down."

"I won’t calm down, Dylan! This shit has got to stop!! How in the hell are we supposed to live our lives with that bastard sticking his nose into every nook and cranny? He’s a fucking voyeur!"

"I know. I know. He pissed me off too, believe me. But…I think I called his bluff."

"How?"

"I threatened to walk."

The shock on Cat’s face was almost comical. "You…what?"

"Just what I said," Dylan replied, rising from the couch and slipping her hands into her pockets. "Cat, he threatened to fire you for breaking the morals clause in your contract. I told him that if he fired you, I’d walk."

"Dylan, you can’t…."

"I can, and I will, Cat. I’m tired of Johnson trying to run my life. I’m more tired of him trying to ruin yours. I’m not playing his whore anymore. If he wants to publish that photo of us, and the piece of crap article that goes with it, he can go right ahead. I don’t care anymore."

"But—."

Walking over to Cat, she reached out and took her lover’s hands. "What I do care about, Cat, is you. Us. It’s more important than whatever image he wants the public to buy. It’s more important than my sponsors, my contract, and my damn career. So let him do what he wants to. He can’t hurt me anymore."

Cat looked up at her in wonder, her eyes shining. "You…." She swallowed. "You really mean that, don’t you."

"Yes. I do." Leaning slowly down, she brushed her lips against Cat’s, then returned, deepening the kiss until Johnson, careers, and even dinner, was forgotten.

*******

Cat watched Dylan in her office as the team prepared for the game. Only Cat knew about the turmoil going on in her lover’s mind over the newest developments with Horace, the rest of the team was blissfully ignorant of the problems brewing not only for their coach and Catherine, but for the team as a whole. Cat smiled to herself as she straightened her new brace, knowing that Dylan wouldn’t have it any other way. Dylan was first and foremost a professional and a damn good coach. She would find a way to deal with Horace and put an end to his manipulations and she would do her best to keep the rest of the team sheltered from it.

As far as Dylan Lambert was concerned, it was bad enough that Cat was being threatened; there was no need for the entire team to feel the stress caused by the bastard that signed the checks. Sitting at her desk, Dylan flipped through the playbook, pretending to be concentrating on the game they were about to play, but fighting her desire to march up to Horace’s skybox and toss him out the window onto the court below.

She knew that all the team needed to do was take the championship and they would have some ammunition to use against the owner should he decide to go public with his threats. People might have problems with gays and lesbians in general, but they loved a winner and they especially loved sports heroes. A win would mean that both she and Catherine would have options past the Badgers.

As Dylan stated down at the playbook, she hoped that she was right. Her career had actually been over since the injury. She tried to tell herself that coaching was the next best thing, but the truth was, in her heart it wasn’t. She loved the game and loved coaching these women, but for a player of Dylan’s caliber, anything other than playing was settling. And she hated to settle. It grated on her nerves, made her antsy and out of sorts, and no one, especially Cat, deserved to see that side of her.

With a determined breath she gathered up the playbook, and her clipboard and went into the locker room where everyone was waiting for the pre-game pep talk. Dylan couldn’t help but smile as she looked at the expectant faces staring at her and waiting for her traditional words of wisdom.

She could only think of three. "Give ‘em hell."

*******

The tip off sent the ball to their opponent and Cat knew that a win was going to be tough to come by. Teams didn’t get this far without being fierce competitors. Cat watched as Angela managed to take the ball and head it back down the court. Even as Cat charged to her own position she could tell by the way Tippens moved that the center was going for the three point shot, and the roar of the crowd drowned out everything else as Cat guarded against someone from the Spartan team trying something silly like taking that ball from Angela. Even as she turned to move back into offensive mode, she took the time to wiggle her eyebrows at the Spartan guard who cursed when the scoreboard registered the Badgers three.

Dylan’s eyes tracked up to the skybox where Horace sat, drinking and watching the game with far too much interest in her opinion. He had never before kept his eyes locked firmly on the court like he was today and the hair raised on Dylan’s neck when she realized her was watching every move Cat made.

"Bastard," she mumbled as she turned to watch Cat with an assist to Chaney that brought the Badgers another two points.

Somewhere, from deep inside, the Spartans decided that this was not the game they came to play and even though every member of the Badgers played the best game they ever had, when the half time buzzer sounded they were down 33 to 22.

*******

Even as the medical staff checked over strains and minor sprains, Dylan took the floor in the center of the locker room.

"It’s okay, they just changed their strategy midway through. So we’re going to change ours and go back out there and kick their butts."

Everyone one agreed and paid close attention as Dylan took her place by the dry board. "They’ve got weaknesses in their defense. All we have to do is exploit those weaknesses and turn them into holes. The first thing we need to do is concentrate our efforts on making that Amazon forward of theirs work harder. She has a tendency to lose her concentration if we force her to do two or three things at once, so I want you to be giving her five or six things to do."

Her hands flew across the board, diagramming plays and defenses that would play on the big forward’s weakness while shoring up their own weaknesses and, hopefully, turning them into points. Her manner was quick, concise and crisp, and her hair, worn down and free for the occasion, fluttered over her shoulders like a pennant banner. Cat decided she liked the look, and paid more attention to the coach than to what she was saying. That was alright, though. She had the words memorized anyway.

*******

When the second half began, Dylan had all the players so charged up, their energy could have lit up Manhattan.

Their coach watched with a great deal of pride as they broke the Spartan defense and ripped their offense into tiny little pieces. Coming back from an eleven-point deficit was going to be a trick but the coach had faith and as she stood there shouting orders and words of encouragement, not once did she bother to look up to the skybox. Right now Horace Johnson wasn’t even a blip on her radar.

The Spartans were becoming increasingly aggressive as the second half ticked away, earning shouts of protest not only from Dylan and the other members of the coaching staff, but from the fans as well. Caulley, in particular, was coming dangerously close to earning the Badgers a technical with her catcalls and her striding right up to the sidelines, almost daring the ref to throw a T at her. Dylan managed to pull the red-faced coach back by one arm, and the look she delivered her assistant had Caulley briefly considering another line of work. Stoking the fires of Hell while Satan’s minions whipped her bloody, perhaps.

When one of the Spartan forwards shoved Cat, Dylan’s hands went up for a time out and she called everyone to the bench before a fight could get started. While the tired players sipped water, and toweled sweaty heads and shoulders, Dylan knelt down and got all their attentions focused on her. "Don’t let them bait you. Let them play rough if they want, but don’t fall for it. We’ve dealt with this before and we’ll deal with it again. You’re all making them nervous and they have to work for this now. Let them work."

"We’re working pretty hard out there too Coach." Chaney offered before slugging down more water.

"Yeah I know, and you’re doing a hell of a job. When we win this one it’s going to be by the skins of our teeth, but you’re going to feel great when you take them down. Just don’t let them take you down with them."

The whistle blew sending them back to the court. The Spartans continued to vary and change their methods of play, causing the Badgers to struggle to keep up even after their tough comeback in the beginning of the half.

With the score tied 40/40 Cat could feel the strain of trying to keep up the blistering pace that was set, but she better than anyone knew exactly what was on the line and she decided that she was going to help her team win this game, or die trying.

Stealing the ball, she sent it down court to Angela who passed it off to Mackey who in a pinch sent it back to Cat. Cat looked for someone, anyone who could take the ball; instead she found an opening and charged through it making a mad dash for a lay-up of any kind and hoping like hell to hit the net.

Even as she let go of the ball she lost her balance and sight of the ball, coming down hard to the floor, she listened to her teammates and the crowd to see if she had made the basket. When she saw Tippens smiling face leaning over her, she had the answer.

"You okay short stuff?"

"I think so," Cat groaned, taking Angela’s extended hand. Once she was on her feet she walked off the pain in her back, and, glancing up at Dylan’s concerned face, she shook her head to indicate that she wasn’t injured and just had the wind knocked out of her.

She coughed and blew out a cleansing breath before she took a moment to determine what play was being run and finding her position. Over the course of the season the team had become adept at giving a member time to catch up, even when the ball was in play. It was just understood that even in the heat of the moment there were moments when you needed to take an extra breath.

The 40/42 score didn’t last long and suddenly Cat found herself looking at a 43/42 score and cursing a blue streak, even if it was in her head. Looking at the game clock she knew that the next eight minutes would make or break the Badgers, Dylan and even her own career. They needed this win to get to the championships and they all wanted it.

It had to happen.

She called a second time out and led the team back to the bench, where Dylan looked at her with some concern.

"You hurt?"

"No, I’m mad."

When the rest of the team gathered round, Cat took the playbook and dropped it to the floor. "Forget the book. Sometimes you just can’t play by the book. So here’s what we’re going to do…"

Dylan stepped back and just watched Cat work.

*******

Cat looked at the clock.

Ten seconds to go.

Badgers in control of the ball with Angela leading the charge to the net.

Cat knew the most important thing right now was protecting Angela, making sure she got to make that three point shot. Every member of the team seemed to be working on telepathy as they formed a protective circle around their forward. Even as the Spartans tried to find a hole to get through the Badgers managed to close them up before anyone could even get close to Tippens.

At the three point line, with three seconds left on the clock, Cat turned to find a forearm coming directly at her throat, which she couldn’t get away from. Seeing stars as she fell back, she could barely make out the form of a Spartan player knocking Angela off her feet.

There seemed to be only a slight buzzing in Cat’s ears and she wondered briefly if she hit her head when she hit the floor, then she realized the buzzing was the roar of the crowd and through the tears in her eyes she can make out 63/65 score.

We did it. Cat smiled as she closed her eyes.

She knew she hadn’t been there long when she opened her eyes and found Dylan leaning over her.

"How bad are you?"

"Hey," Cat smiled, "We won didn’t we."

"I mean hurt."

"I don’t think I am. Help me up."

Dylan pulled Cat to her feet, sheltering her, since was a bit unsteady on her feet. "Are you sure you’re not hurt?"

"No, I’m okay, just banged up." Cat smiled at the coach, but then noticed the medical staff hovering over Angela. "Shit. What did they do?"

"We’re not sure yet." Dylan released Cat, who went to her teammate and knelt down by her head.

"Hey Tipper," Cat used Angela’s rarely used nickname. "How ya doing?"

"I’m good, but my leg seems to have opinions of its own."

"Well, no matter what happens, you won the game, hero." Nudging her friend with an elbow earned the grin she’d been hoping for, and she tousled Angela’s hair as the med techs rushed in and deposited the downed woman on a stretcher.

*******

Dylan sat in the hospital waiting room watching as every member of the Badgers paced back and forth waiting for the final word on their injured player.

"Well hell," Chaney sat down in a chair across from Dylan. "If her ACL is torn, we may as well kiss the championship good bye."

"No way," Cat straightened up from her spot against a wall. "If her ACL is torn that bites and it sucks for Angela and we’ll have to go after the championship. It won’t be easy and it won’t be fun but we can win it. We have to, for her. For us."

Dylan stood and stretched, it had been a long night and her plans of buying her team dinner and then a quiet night with Cat had gone down the tubes the second the team doctor had made a preliminary diagnosis of a torn ACL. After that the entire team demanded to go to the hospital and wait. "Cat’s right. We have to win it and we will. For us."

*******

Stripping off her scrub gown and gloves, Kelly Norton opened the door to the treatment room and beckoned Dylan inside. Once the coach’s broad shoulders had cleared the swinging doors, Norton grabbed hold of her elbow and led her to a quieter corner of the room, away from the exam table and the techs who were fitting Tippens with a heavy brace.

"Good news or bad news?" Norton asked, keeping an eye on the action in the center of the room.

"C’mon, Kelly, I don’t have time to play word games. Just tell me how she is."

"Alright. It’s her ACL, but it’s not torn, just badly sprained. She’ll need a brace and crutches, and a shitload of physical therapy, but I don’t have to cut on her, and if she follows my orders, she’ll play again."

"Thank God," Dylan breathed, genuinely relieved.

"But not this season."

"That’s fine. I don’t care about this season, Kelly. I care about her career."

Norton met the intense blue eyes and nodded, her own gaze softening perceptibly. "I know, D. I know. She’s gonna be plenty sore for awhile, but she’ll be okay."

"Good. Can I see her?"

"She’s kinda doped up and probably won’t make any sense, but sure."

"Thanks."

The techs backed away as Dylan moved forward to the table and looked down at her fallen player. Angela was a little pale, and her leg looked as if it had been through the meat grinder, but otherwise, she looked better than Dylan could have hoped.

When she saw her coach peering down at her, a big, morphine-enhanced grin curled her lips. "Heya, Coach!" she sang, trying to lift an arm, then giving up when it didn’t want to work, and letting it flop down to the bed. "Howzzz thangs?"

"Things are pretty good," Dylan replied, trying to keep her expression serious.

"Thass good." Her eyes widened. "Gosh, you sure are pretty, Coach! Did anyone ever tell you that? That you’re reallll pretty?? Did they?"

Dylan could feel the heat of the blush crawling up from her neck, and glared at the others in the room who were snickering at her. They quickly found other things to do. When she looked back down at her player, Angela looked as if she was getting ready to cry. "Hey. What’s wrong?"

"I ain’t gonna be able to play no more," she mumbled, sounding very much like a three-year old.

"Sure you will," Dylan countered, taking the young woman’s hand. "You’ve only got a sprain, not a tear. Didn’t the Doc tell you that?"

"Don’t remember."

Dylan looked over at Norton, who nodded.

"You’re gonna be fine, Angela," the coach said. "A brace, crutches, some PT, and before you know it, you’ll be sinking threes again just like you did tonight."

Big, round, innocent eyes met hers, hope shining in them. "You really think so?"

"I know so."

"Gosh, Coach Goddess, you’re real swell. And pretty too." Tippens giggled and tried to lift her arms again. It was a lost cause, and after a final squeeze of her hand, Dylan backed away, gesturing for Norton to follow her back to the corner.

"What’s up?" the doc asked.

"Dobbins. She’s the only one we have who can play her position, and she’s been suffering back spasms since the Pistol’s game. Do whatever you need to do for her, but make sure she can play tomorrow night."

"I don’t know, D. She’s been in a lot of pain…."

"Just do it."

Norton blinked, then nodded. "I’ll see what I can do," she said tightly.

"Good."

"You can let the others in to see her for a couple minutes if you want," Norton called out to Dylan’s retreating back. She received a brisk nod in response as the coach hit the door and disappeared back into the waiting room.

A minute later, a flood of players entered the room, talking excitedly.

Back in the now empty waiting room, Dylan dug her cellphone from her pocket, flipped it open, and punched a button with her thumb. She held the phone to her ear until the line was answered by a sleepy, annoying voice. "Manny? We need to talk. Now."

******

"And that was the buzzer, Lori, bringing to close a, well, I guess you would have to call it ‘inspiring’ half of basketball."

"Inspiring indeed, Ted. With the Badgers’ great defensive shot blocker and outside threat Angela Tippens out with an injured knee, Lola Dobbins has been doing her best to fit in, but you could tell several times out there that her back was giving her a lot of trouble. Frankly, I’m surprised Coach Lambert kept her in the entire half."

"Well, Lori, it’s not that surprising when you look at their roster and see that there really isn’t anybody to replace her with. Thorne’s been having trouble with bursitis in her shooting arm, and I don’t think Dylan is comfortable going up against a team as all-around tall as the Lightning with three women in there under 5’6". Especially with Cat Hodges, their outstanding point guard and court general, hobbled with that sore knee."

"Very true. What is surprising, I think, is that the Badgers, the little team that could, has actually managed to make somewhat of a game of it out there today. Yes, they’re losing by fifteen at the half, but they’ve overcome worse deficits, and in the last game, managed to win despite behind eleven at the half."

"I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what tricks Coach Lambert can pull out of her sleeve this week, Ted, because things the way they are, I don’t think we’re in for a repeat of that last game."

"Understood, Lori. Well, folks, stay tuned for the second half of what promises to be a gutsy performance by the Birmingham Badgers against the perennial favorites, the Louisiana Lightning. And we’ll be back after this commercial from Maxi-Fresh."

******

"I’ll be fine, Coach!" Lola Dobbins yelled from the depths of the whirlpool into which she’d been ensconced the very second the buzzer rang ending the half. "Just a little more of this hot water and a good massage, and maybe a shot, and I’ll be good to go. I can feel the muscles relaxing already!"

"Just relax in there, Dobbins," a harried Norton said, buzzing past Dylan with a soft brace and liniment in her hand for Cat’s swollen knee. "I’ll be back in a minute."

"I swear, Coach, I’m feeling better. Honest." Dobbins turned pleading eyes to Dylan. "Please. Let me play. I can do it."

Giving her player the best smile she could offer, Dylan rapped her knuckles on the whirlpool rail and said, "We’ll see."

Leaving the relative quiet of the whirlpool/treatment room, Dylan made her way back into the organized chaos of the locker-room, making a beeline directly for the bench where Cat was being tended to. Coming down to one knee, she put a hand on her lover’s thigh, not caring what anyone saw, or thought, and met Cat’s eyes directly. "The truth."

"It hurts like hell. But…I can play on it. I’ve had worse knee strains before, and the Doc has already taken my picture and pronounced me fit, right?"

Norton grimaced even as she nodded. "It goes against my utopian world recommendations, but…right."

Dylan sighed, worrying at her lower lip, comforted slightly when Cat reached down and covered her hand with her own. "How’s Dobbins?" she asked softly.

"Not good," Dylan replied, not needing Kelly’s assessment of the situation. "She’s hurting bad, and I don’t think all the backrubs and whirlpool baths in the world are going to stop that."

"I’m sorry, D," Norton said, finishing up with Cat’s knee and giving it a light pat. "I did the best I could."

"I know, Kelly, and I thank you for it. It just wasn’t in the cards, I guess."

"You could always put Thorne in and shift Chane to small forward," Cat hazarded, hating the bleak look in her lover’s striking eyes. "She’s played that position before, you know." Cat frowned when the look didn’t disappear. A cold feeling of dread spread its way through her belly and limbs, making her shiver. "Dylan? You’re…you’re not thinking of forfeiting, are you?" The slight shift of color in Dylan’s eyes told Cat all she needed do know. Lifting her hand, she clamped it on her lover’s shoulder. "Dylan, no. Please. Don’t give up, not when we’ve gotten this far. Even if we wind up losing by thirty points, it won’t be because we didn’t try our damndest out there. Please, let us have that chance. Don’t quit. Don’t make us quit. Please?"

Still worrying her lower lip, Dylan dropped her eyes, gently released Cat’s grip on her shoulder, and stood. Her gaze scanned the rest of the players, who had all overheard the conversation, soft-voiced as it was, and looked back at her with desperate, pleading eyes. She allowed those looks, those emotions, to penetrate for one intense moment, then hardened her heart, and let her face show that. "Caulley," she called to the assistant coach who was leaning against a locker, arms folded, "come with me."

As soon as the door closed behind them, the sense of deflation and disappointment filled the air like a pall. The players slumped in their seats; several had tears in their eyes.

"MotherFUCK!!" Chane shouted, pounding the locker with her fist. "I can’t believe she up and fucking quit on us. What the fuck?!?"

The locker room door opened again, this time admitting an official. "Five minutes, guys. Time to get out there and warm up."

"Why should we bother?" Chane asked after he left. "It’s not like we’re gonna be warming up for anything. Looking like goddamned fools standin’ around there till they tell us to go home. Screw that. I’m gettin’ a shower and gettin’ the fuck outta here."

"Chane, wait." Taking in a deep breath, Cat stood, wincing only slightly as she put weight back on her knee. "If nothing else, we are professionals. Face it. No one expected us to make it even half this far, right? But we did it. We showed them all what we could do." She shrugged. "We can’t help it that Angela’s knee got busted, or that Dobbsie’s got a bum back. Those things happened because we played harder, smarter, and better than anyone ever thought we could. Even if we forfeit, we have a right to be out there, in front of that crowd, not slinking off like thieves." She met each player’s eyes, letting them see the strength of her convictions, the passion in her heart for the game she so loved. "We always won with dignity and grace. Let’s show this crowd that we can lose the same way, ok?"

One by one, the players rose to their feet, inspired by the words of this rookie, their Captain, who had led them this far, and was willing to lead them to the end, however ignoble that end might be. Even Chane managed to muster a smile and, walking over, clapped Cat on the back. "If ya ever decide to run for President," she said, "call me. I’ll vote for ya."

Chuckling, Cat turned to her teammates. "C’mon, guys. Let’s get out there and, well, just…get out there."

It was a group of subdued, but proud Badgers who left the locker room for the court, chins held high, even if their hearts weren’t.

*******

"It’s a pretty quiet crowd here in Bayou Arena, Ted, since the players have come back on the court. Especially since the Badgers seem short a player and two coaches."

"You’re right, Lori. Dobbins was really hurting during the first half, and from what I’m hearing, the team physician has nixed her reentry into the game tonight."

"Bad news indeed, Ted. And since the Lightning coach, Merla Gibson, just crossed the court to the official’s table a few minutes ago, I’m guessing that a forfeit is in the cards for tonight."

"And that’s just too bad, Lori. The Badgers really were showing some spunk out there tonight, despite all their injuries, and it would have been good to see them play it through to the end."

"Sometimes, these things just can’t be helped, Ted."

"Unfortunately, you’re right about that, Lori. The officials are gathering around the mic now. Let’s listen in to their announcement."

*******

"I’m telling you, I’m launching a formal protest!" shouted Merla Gibson, the first-year coach of the Lightning. "This is completely unprecedented! Completely!!"

"I’m not trying to stop you, Ma’am. You can file a protest any time you want," the head official replied, "but she’s on the roster. Has been since the beginning of the season. I checked it out myself. Everything’s in order."

"I will not stand for this!!" Gibson screamed, getting in the official’s face in the best baseball manager tradition. If there had been any dirt on the waxed floorboards, she would have kicked it over his shoes. "It’s a travesty!! This cannot be allowed!"

"Ms. Gibson," the referee said, easing his way into the about-to-be fracas, "I don’t want to have to give you a technical here. Please just go back to the bench."

"Technical!?!" the coach all but screeched, turning to the ref with her hands raised, "you want to give me a technical?!? I’ll show you--."

"That’s enough, Merla," said Josh Sellers, the assistant coach, grabbing his boss by one upraised arm and tugging. "Let’s just go back to the bench, alright?"

"Get. Your. Hands. Off. Of. Me!!"

******

"What the hell is going on over there?" Chaney asked, watching as the red-faced coach in front of the official’s table almost knocked her assistant’s block off.

"Beats me," Cat replied, eyes skipping from the officials to the coaches and back like an avid spectator at a particularly exciting tennis match. "I’d think us forfeiting would be a good thing for her."

"Ya think?" Chaney asked, voice oozing sarcasm.

"Maybe she didn’t wanna win this way," Anya observed from her spot next to Cat. "Maybe she wanted to show her fans how bad she was by stomping the crap outta us."

"Pretty damn childish if that’s what her beef is," Cat replied, flicking her gaze to Anya, and freezing. "Oh my God," she breathed.

"What?" Anya asked, looking down at herself. "I got a bug on me or something?"

"Holy fucking shit!!" Chaney whooped, pumping both fists in the air. "Yes!!!"

"What?! C’mon you guys! What’s going on??"

Cat was grinning so widely, the lanky forward thought her face was going to split clear in half, and she thought she caught the shine of tears in the brilliant green eyes of her team captain. Following the direction of those eyes, she half turned, and found herself frozen to the court as if she’d suddenly sprouted roots. "Holy cow," she whispered, blinking, then rubbing her eyes to make sure that what she thought she was seeing was really what she was, in fact, seeing.

Briskly walking through the tunnel that separated the court from the locker rooms was Diana Caulley, and behind her, striding loose-limbed and easy, was Dylan, in uniform down to her trademark black high-tops.

Badger fans, of which there were more than a few, after a moment of stone silence, began to cheer wildly, rising to their feet, pointing, and then clapping for all they were worth. Fans of the home team, confused, followed the direction of the pointing fingers, then looked at one another in stunned disbelief. Several, who would always see Dylan as "their" Goddess, began to cheer, not caring what the sudden presence of the game’s greatest player said for the chances of their own team. Like a wildfire, the cheers began to spread until, with the exception of a few scattered ‘boos’ and one red-faced and raving coach, the entire arena was filled to the rafters with chants of "God-dess! God-dess! God-dess! God-dess!"

Dylan, her game face set firmly in place, ignored the cheers from fans and players alike and came to join the rest of her team, staring straight ahead at Caulley, who had assumed head coaching duties. The other players took Dylan’s lead and faced their coach, though they weren’t quite able to suppress the wild excitement that lit their eyes as if from within.

"Ok, you guys, listen up," Caulley began, rubbing her hands on her once-pressed and now drenched shirt. "This isn’t the way we planned this game to go, and I think you know that. At least, I hope you do."

The players nodded.

"From the beginning of the season, we’ve, I hope, tried to prove that the Badgers are a team. We stand, or fall, as a team. Now you guys, as a team, have taken us all the way to the semi-finals, somewhere no one ever thought we could be. There’s a lot to be proud of in that. There’s no shame in losing, not like this, not when you’ve done your best." She takes in a deep breath. "So, as a team, we need to make a decision. Dylan is a legal player. She’s been on our roster since she was hired, as a player-coach." She held up a hand to still the cheering players. "But what I need to know from you guys, honestly and without fear of anything hard feelings, is…do you want her to play in this game."

"You crazy, right?" Chane asked. "Why the fuck would we turn something like this down! It’s a fucking gift, man!"

"Everyone might not think so, Shaniqua. What you’ve done this entire year has been done without a superstar, and that’s a damn good message to send to the fans out there, especially the younger ones who think that unless they’ve got a Dylan Lambert or a Michael Jordon, they might not even bother playing. You showed them what you could do without that kind of help. By god, ladies, you *did* it! And if we didn’t get hit with these damn injuries, I’m sure you’d be doing it still!" She shrugged. "But…people talk. You know they do. And if we put Dylan in the game, they’re going to be claiming all sorts of things that will effect you as a team." She tossed a look to Chaney. "Sometimes, gifts come at a price higher than we might be willing to play, and you have to think about that."

"Fuck the fans. Fuck the newspapers. Fuck ESPN. Fuck the league. I came here to win, Coach, and that’s what I wanna do. Cap’n D here is our coach. Without her we wouldn’t have gotten near as far as we’ve gotten, and everybody knows that. We need her help, like we always have, and I’m not gonna let some stupid fear or pride stand in the way of that. No way, man. No fucking way."

"Your opinion has been noted, Shaniqua. Anyone else have anything to add? Remember, nothing bad’s going to happen against you if you feel better just going this alone. I swear it."

The rest of the teammates looked at one another for a long moment of silence. Then Cat stepped forward, took Dylan’s hand, and placed her own atop it. With giddy grins, one by one, the rest of the team put their hands in. "Badgers….Badgers….Badgers…BADGERS….BADGERS!!!!"

"Any last words of wisdom, Coach?" Chaney asked Dylan as they broke their mini huddle.

The game face was still on. "Let’s get it done."

"Yeah!!!"

*******

"Well, it seems like I’m at a rare loss for words, here, Lori."

"You said it, or rather didn’t say it, Ted. As you can hear all around us, the arena is still buzzing over the unexpected addition of Dylan Lambert to the Badgers’ playing ranks. To say I, myself, am surprised at this turn of events would be putting it mildly, Ted. It really doesn’t seem like Lambert’s style."

"Well, the Badgers’ owner, Horace Johnson has, shall we say, been known to push his product memorably. Perhaps this is one of those times."

On cue, one of the main TV cameras panned to the sky-box where Johnson was sitting. The owner rivaled the coach of the Lightning in facial redness and looked very much like another ‘coronary event’ was very near in his future.

"Well, I suppose we can cross that theory off the list, Lori. Johnson doesn’t seem any happier over this particular turn of events than his counterpart on the Lightning."

"Be that as it may, Ted, the players from both teams have taken the court, so I suppose the reaction to this controversial move will have to wait until after the game."

"Sounds good to me, Lori. The head referee has just handed the ball to Lambert as the possession arrows were pointing the Badgers’ way when the half ended. On the court with her for the Badgers are Hodges, Chaney, Anya, and Cooper. The Lightning are countering with Race and Blevins at guard, Toomey at center, and Holloway and Gathers at forward.

"Toomey steps up to guard Lambert and the whistle blows, starting the second half of this semi-final game.

"Lambert waits as her team sets up, then dishes off to Chaney, who is immediately trapped by Holloway and Gathers. She sees an opening and bounce passes to Hodges, who dribbles past half court and sets up the play. The Lightning look to be starting off in a man on man despite the backcourt trap. Blevins steps up to guard Hodges, who does a nice crossover dribble around the pick set for her by Anya, then passes off to Chaney. Chaney dribbles once, looking for an open shot, but she’s well guarded by Gathers in a real height mismatch.

"Lambert streaks into the paint and receives the pass from Chaney, then turns and puts up an eight footer that…oooh, Toomey got a piece of that one. There’s a story the rookie will be able to tell her grandkids, Lori!"

"True, Ted. Gathers got the rebound and passed it off to Race who’s dribbling past half court. Quick pass to Toomey who…yipes! Lambert got all of that one! Toomey’s gonna have to check her face for lines, I think. That ball came back at her at the speed of light!"

"Chaney grabs the ball and starts off downcourt, then passes off to Hodges on a three on two fast break with Lambert streaking down the center of the court. Her knee doesn’t look to be bothering her in the least right now.

"Hodges dishes to Chaney, who tips it back to Hodges who rifles a no-look bounce pass to her left, directly to Lambert who goes up for the layup, and scores! Very nicely executed fast break."

"Blevins takes the ball behind the endline and waits for her players. She’s guarded by Lambert, which looks like something out of David and Goliath. The rest of the Lightning players are being well guarded as the ref counts off the seconds. Blevins thows up a desperation pass, oh…Lambert tips it right into the hands of Hodges, who turns and rifles a pass to Chaney just outside the three point line. Chaney looks, shoots, and scores!! Beautiful shot."

"Great display of teamwork too, Ted. And in just…one minute and ten seconds, the Badgers have managed to take a fifteen point deficit down to ten."

"With Dylan Lambert a part of all five of the Badgers’ points, Lori. If she’s rusty, she’s surely not showing it to this crowd here tonight."

"I’ll have to agree there, Ted. The Badgers look really pumped, but then again, who wouldn’t, with the Goddess on their side?"

"Not me, that’s for sure."

The censor shot a glare at the announcer, who returned him a lewd grin and a waggle of his eyebrows.

"The Lightning are past mid-court. Toomey sets up a screen on Lambert, and Blevins passes a quick one to Holloway who fakes a shot and passes back to Blevins. The Badgers are set up in a two-three trap zone, now they switch to a box and one, with Hodges out guarding Blevins, who is a distinct three point threat, with four threes already this game. Blevins passes the ball to Gathers, who dishes it to Race, who tries a shot from behind three point range and misses completely.

"The rebound is gathered in by Anya, who passes to Hodges who calls out a play as she dribbles quickly down the court. The Lightning are back quickly this time and set up in a one-three-one. Hodges passes to Lambert, who avoids the trap and drives in toward post, then steps back and fires over the Lightning’s heads to Chaney who’s as open as an all night tavern. One look and she shoots, and another three is up on the board for the Badgers! Shaniqua Chaney is on fire tonight! Two threes in the space of less than a minute! The Lightning are starting to look a little frazzled as their lead has been cut in half, now in the single digits.

"Race gets the ball to Gathers, who passes it back to her, and—oh no! Hodges came outta nowhere to steal that one, ladies and gentlemen! She drives into the paint and scores an easy layup, cutting the Lightning lead to five. And with that, Gibson calls a time out."

"I think I need one too, Ted. We’ve been watching an absolutely amazing display of teamwork by the Birmingham Badgers these past few minutes. They’re putting on a clinic out there."

*******

"Good job, guys," Caulley said, a rare smile making an appearance as she patted each player who passed her on the way to the bench. The level of excitement was so high from her players that she imagined she could feel it physically, like standing under a high-tension line. "Alright, now let’s not get too cocky here. In case none of you have noticed, we’re still down by five, and the Lightning’s an experienced team, so we’ve gotta take it easy and stay calm, alright?"

The players nodded as they toweled off and sipped from the cups of water handed to them by the trainers.

"Good play-calling, Cat," Caulley continued, moving to squat in front of her. "Keep it up. Chaney, you’ve obviously found your range, so stick with it. When you see an opening, go for it for as long as you feel you can. We’ll need those threes as often as we can get them. That team over there isn’t going to just roll over and die, no matter who we put up against them."

"No problem, Coach," Chane replied, mopping the sweat from her braids.

"Dylan, you’ve got Toomey rattled, which is exactly what we need. Anything you can do to rattle her more, short of fouling, do. With her out of the way, we’re much more evenly matched, height-wise."

Her face still set as stone, Dylan nodded, piercing eyes leveled at the goings on on the bench across court. Gibson had been sending increasingly murderous looks her way, and she wouldn’t put it past the firebrand coach to send out one of her thugs to make sure her knee didn’t stay as fine as it was feeling at the moment. It could be easily done, foul or no foul, and she’d have to keep a watch out for it as the game progressed. When the next look came her way, she saluted the Lightning coach with the cup she was holding, then quaffed the water and saluted again before crumpling the cup and sending it to the waste-bag for two.

Knowing well that Cat was sitting right next to her, she turned and dropped her lover a wink, the only display of any type of emotion she’d thus far shown. For Cat, it was as good as a grin, and she grinned back, patting Dylan’s thigh just as the whistle blew for the resumption of play.

*******

As she took the court, Cat noticed something by the Lightning bench and reached out to place an arm on Dylan’s wrist. Cold blue eyes looked down at her like a laser, and Cat swallowed hard. "I noticed something," she said as softly as she could manage, given the crowd’s noise.

Dylan’s eyebrow rose in question.

"Gibbons is putting in Tanya Stephenson." Her fingers went up in quote marks, though she was deadly serious. "The Enforcer. Please, watch out for her, alright? I’ve got your back, and so does the rest of the team, but…."

Dylan’s smile was, if possible, colder than her eyes. "Oh," she purred, voice dark and deep, "I plan to."

Cat blinked, then nodded as Dylan walked away, setting up to guard against the inbounds pass. The guard exchanged a crosscourt look with Chaney, who gave her an evil little grin and a ‘thumbs up’ gesture that let Cat relax, at least a little. Shaking her hands out, she went chest to chest with Blevins who was looking to take the outlet from the sideline.

*******

"I guess we’ll see if Coach Gibson’s sideline pep-talk was effective, Lori."

"If it isn’t, putting Stephenson in for Gathers may well be, Ted."

"This is true, Lori. Stephenson certainly isn’t known for her shooting ability, and with an average of four fouls per game, it’s quite obvious, at least to me, what her role is going to be these next few minutes."

"It sure will be interesting to see how it plays out, Ted."

"We’ll just have to watch and see, Lori. The referee has just handed the ball to Holloway, who is closely guarded by Lambert. Holloway gets a pass in to Blevins, who dribbles, then passes to Stephenson, back to Blevins, over to Race, who sets up a half-court offensive play. The Badgers are still in their box-and-one with Hodges now guarding Race.

"Race takes her time, waiting for the play to set up. Holloway moves in toward low post, then back out. She takes the pass from Race…it slides off her fingers, ball’s loose, Blevins recovers and shoots it out to Race. Race dishes it back to Stephenson a few steps in from half-court as the rest of the players reset. Stephenson passes to Blevins, back to Stephenson, who drives toward the paint. Chaney slides over to help Lambert. OH! Write MasterCard all over that one, folks! She wasn’t even trying for the basket!

"Lambert and Chaney are down. Chaney pops back up…"

*******

"Flagrant, ref!" Chaney shouted. "Flagrant! You saw what she was tryin’ to do!"

Smiling a little, the ref shook her head and called the charge as Cat ran over to Dylan. "Are you alright?"

"I’m fine," Dylan replied, shrugging off Cat’s hand and standing on her own. She looked over at Stephenson, who was smirking at her, and held up one finger. "That’s one," she mouthed, pleased when the smirk faded a bit from the red-headed giant.

"You’re fucked, meat," Chaney said, going chest to belly with the much taller Stephenson.

"You ain’t pretty enough, Chaingang," Stephenson replied, blowing the smaller player a kiss and trotting off, laughing.

*******

"Well, Stephenson’s showing her true colors early on, Ted."

"You’re right about that, Lori. The referee must have been inclined to give out a freebie, because that’s about as flagrant as it gets."

"The Badgers managed to hold their poise, though, so I guess we’ll see what else The Enforcer has up her sleeve. Cooper takes the ball and passes off to Hodges, who dribbles downcourt and rifles a pass off to Anya, who shoots it over to Chaney. Chaney looks, dribbles, oh, Blevins steals the ball and heads downcourt! Holloway is pacing her, but she takes it all the way, stops at the line and shoots! Score another three for Taretha Blevins. And the Lightning crowd comes to its feet, their lead suddenly back to eight points."

"That was a beautiful play, Ted. Blevins is the league scoring leader, and it’s because of plays like that one. She’s got the eye and the range, that’s for sure."

"Lambert takes the in-bounds pass from Hodges, then gives it back to her. Hodges passes crosscourt to Cooper, back to Hodges, over to Chaney. Lambert moves to low post, receives the pass and kicks it back out to Hodges. Hodges to Chaney, down to Anya who shoots a short range jumper that rattles off the rim. Lambert up for the rebound…and Stephenson cuts her legs out from under her! Oh, that was a nasty play! Looks like Lambert might be hurt. No, she’s up, and boy is she cool as ice, folks! Anybody else would probably have taken a swing, but the Goddess is earning her name out there today.

"She steps up to the free throw line. Apparently, this time the official saw the flagrant foul, though it would have been pretty hard to miss. She takes the ball. It’s up, and in. Her freethrow style certainly hasn’t changed. No dribble. Just up and…in again. Four points so far for Lambert this game. And the lead is now down to six.

"Race dribbles down the court, guarded closely by Hodges. She dishes off to Holloway who tries a twelve footer. No go. Lambert up again for the rebound. She gets it and absolutely wings a pass to Hodges streaking down the sideline. And it’s an easy layup from the little guard from UCONN, cutting the Lightning lead to four points. Very impressive."

"That was a very impressive pass, Ted. Not many women in the league have the arm strength to throw the ball that hard and that far down the court, especially with such pinpoint perfection."

"Could be why she’s the Goddess and the rest of us are just mere mortals, Lori…. Holloway takes the pass and hands it to Race. Race tosses a long cross court pass to Stephenson who dishes it to Blevins. Blevins starts in, then steps back. Hodges is all over her like cheap perfume tonight. Looking…looking…she dishes off to Holloway, back to Race who resets the play. Race fakes to Stephenson, then bounce passes to Toomey who’s in the paint. She lays it up…it bounces off the rim, and back in again for two points. The luck of the Irish was with her on that one. The lead is back up to six with time slowly counting down.

"Chaney takes the pass from Anya and hands it off to Hodges. Hodges dribbles freely down the court, setting up her play. She passes to Cooper at the top of the key. Cooper turns and fires one over the heads of everyone, right into the hands of Lambert, who’s being extremely closely guarded by Stephenson. There’s a little pushing and shoving. Lambert dribbles, nice crossover, moves to her left, off a nice pick by Chaney, who rolls back, takes the pass from Lambert and shoots a midrange jumper that sails through for two and the lead, yet again, is back down to four."

*******

"Pick and roll, baby. Pick and roll. I’ll be doin that to you allll night, meat."

"Go fuck your mother some more, bitch," was Stephenson’s smart retort.

"Nah, she doesn’t scream for it like yo mama do, meat."

*******

"There’s some trash talking going on down there, Ted, between Chaney and Stephenson. Apparently, Chaney’s taken exception to the Enforcer’s treatment of her teammate and coach. Lambert moves in and pulls Chaney away, settling her player down somewhat."

"Stephenson flicks a lazy pass to Toomey, who puts it down on the ground and is pickpocketed by Hodges. Oh, what a beautiful move. She’s dribbling down the court, tailed by Lambert and Chaney. Passes to Chaney, who dishes it off to Lambert who goes over the head of Stephenson for a JAM, ladies and gentlemen! The first dunk of the season, and it comes in this semifinal match."

"That was a thing of beauty, Ted, and the look on Stephenson’s face right now…well…if revenge is a dish best served cold, she just got a heapin’ helpin’ of ice cubes shoved right down her shorts."

"Stephenson isn’t very happy with events, Ted. She’s stalking after Lambert, who has her back turned and…oh! Stephenson gets absolutely bulldozed by Chaney and Hodges! Lambert steps in again, grabbing the two guards by the back of their jerseys while Toomey and Holloway restrain Stephenson who looks like she’s ready to do some serious damage right about now."

"The officials have stepped in. Let’s see if they’re going to assess some technicals to these players. Fighting is very frowned upon in the league after last year’s debacle that cost Myrna Hamilton her sight. No…looks like they’re just going to let play resume. I guess that was a warning shot over the bow, Lori."

"Well, no fists were thrown, so I’m guessing they’re going by the letter of the law here, Ted. I’m not sure I like what that says about tonight’s officials, though."

******

"Look," Dylan said, hands still full of jersey, "I appreciate what you’re both trying to do, but you need to let me handle this my own way, alright?"

"She’s tryin’ to kill you out there, Coach!" Chaney protested. "Motherfucker!"

"I understand that. But if either of you gets ejected, we are going to lose this game. So just keep your cool and let me handle Stephenson, alright?"

"How’s your knee?" Cat asked.

"My knee is fine," Dylan replied through gritted teeth. "You’re the team captain, Cat. Start acting like one and not like a thug, alright?"

Cat blinked, stung by her lover’s words. "But--."

"I’m serious, Cat. You let me worry about Stephenson. You worry about this team."

"But you’re part of this team!"

"Yeah, I am. A small part." She sighed. "Listen, Cat. I can handle her. She’s nothing but an overgrown bully who thinks she’s the top dog in the pen. You two start acting like dogs, she’s gonna come after you. Let me handle this, alright?"

Dejected, both women nodded. "We gotcha, Coach," Chaney said, eyeing her sneakers and looking oddly adolescent. "We’ll back off."

"Alright, then. Let’s go play some ball."

******

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, it’s less than two minutes to go in the second half of play, and the Badgers, true to their name, have come out scrapping. Stephenson’s intimidator tactics have been neutralized by Lambert, courtesy of several spectacular shots right over the big woman. Looks like the intimidator has become the intimidated. Gathers is back in in her normal position as the Lightning, to pull this off, need all the firepower they can get. Badgers ahead by three, and the Lightning have the ball.

"The Badgers have shifted into a one-three-one trap type defense whose sole purpose is to get the ball out of Blevins’ hands. Gathers inbounds to Race, who heads for the paint, fakes a shot, fakes a pass, then moves in again, dodging and dipping her way through the larger bodies. She lays it up. It hits the front part of the rim and bounces straight up. Lambert and Gathers go for the rebound. Lambert grabs it and uses her sharp elbows to clear out a space for herself. She passes to Chaney, who loses the handle.

"Toomey picks it up and shoots from the key. Scores! The lead is now cut to one with…less than a minute to play. Perfect foul situation for the Lightning."

"Yes, just don’t foul Hodges, who is the Badgers’ best free throw shooter at seventy eight percent from behind the line."

"Lambert takes the ball out of bounds, guarded heavily by Gathers and Holloway. Race and Blevins are all over Hodges, and Chaney breaks free, wide open. Lambert sees her, but can’t get the pass off.

"The ref is counting down the final seconds. Lambert lifts the ball, and throws it at the belly of Gathers. The ball bounces off of her and out of bounds. Good play to keep possession by Lambert."

"It was a gutsy call, Ted. Gathers could have easily caught that and scored the lead basket. Lambert was lucky that time."

"There’s a switch behind the endline as now Toomey handles the ball. Chaney sets a pick for Hodge’s defender, springing the point guard, who catches the pass with sure hands. Turning, she sees Lambert streaking down the sideline all alone, and as the clock begins to wind down, she launches an airball as hard and as high as she can make it.

"The ball lands in Lambert’s hands at the apex of her jump and she JAMS it through. The perfect alley oop schoolyard play, but in this case, it worked to perfection. The lead’s back up to three.

"The Lightning race back and get the ball. The seconds are ticking down. Gathers manages to get a pass off to Blevins who is immediately fouled by Chaney."

"A good call, Ted. The Badgers are just at their team limit, and Blevins can sometimes be inconsistent with her free-throws."

"It’s a one and one situation, here as Blevins steps up to the line and receives the ball. She dribbles, looks, and shoots. The ball rattles around the rim, then goes through, cutting the lead to two.

"Pretty much everybody in the house knows this is going to be a deliberate miss, Ted. It’ll be interesting to see what the Badgers have planned. Lambert and Gathers switch sides, ready to box out."

"Blevins steps up to the line. She dribbles once, twice, looks, and launches a complete brick that hits the rim and bounces nearly back to her. Hodges steps in and grabs the rebound, but has it stripped from her hands by Race. Both women go down and the ball rolls free. Lambert vaults the pile of bodies and lands on the ball just as the buzzer sounds, ending the game, and with it the Lightning’s hope for a repeat championship appearance."

"It wasn’t a pretty game, but it sure was a gutsy one, Ted, I’ll have to give both teams that as we watch the euphoric Badgers dogpile on their Coach who still has the ball in her hands."

"Interestingly, the only person who looks upset about this is Lightning Coach Merla Gibbons. The rest of the team is helping Lambert to her feet and showering her with as much congratulations as are the members of her own team."

"Well, she played with them for many years, don’t forget, and I think they can be forgiven for feeling some of the same excitement we feel just watching her out on the court again."

"Very much so, Ted. Well, that about wraps it up here at Bayou Arena, with the Birmingham Badgers coming out on top of the Louisiana Lightning 74-72. For Ted Richardson and all the rest of us at ESPN, this is Lori Belchar wishing you all a good night."

*******

Cat sat in the hot tub up to her chin. Every muscle in her body hurt. Some of them hurt twice. All she wanted to do was soak, take a hot shower , crawl into bed next to Dylan, and sleep for a week. If Dylan was in the mood to share her bed, that was. The tall coach had been very quiet during the drive home. Part of it, Cat knew, was processing the game and her role in it. Part of it, too, was the fact that she hadn’t "come all the way back" from the Dylan Lambert she was on court—the cold, stone-faced, nothing-but-business persona that Cat had, from time to time, caught glimpses of, but never directed at her.

The memory of Dylan’s words to her on the court still stung, even though she understood the logic of them. It was the lack of emotion behind those words that cut into her heart and made her feel, if not unwanted, at least rebuked.

As if on cue, Dylan entered the room with two glasses of juice. Dropping her robe she slid into the tub next to the blonde, groaning all the way down. "Oh God."

"Tell me about it," Cat took the offered juice, enjoying the fact that it was ice cold. "My aches have aches." A moment later, she opened her eyes to see the perfect bud of a long-stemmed blood red rose just beneath her nose. "Thank you," she said, surprised, as she carefully took the rose from her partner’s fingers.

"Thank you," Dylan replied. "For putting up with me out there today. I know it’s not something you’re used to seeing, or dealing with."

Cat chuckled, as if she hadn’t been having those very same thoughts just seconds before. "It’s alright, love. It’s not like you haven’t spoken firmly to me as my coach, you know."

"I know. But it’s different getting ‘talked to’ by your coach and getting ragged on by a teammate."

"Well," Cat replied thoughtfully, "that’s true. And I’ll have to admit that it knocked me for a loop for a bit. But I thought about it…even while you were just talking to me, actually, and, well, I think I understand better now. I mean, it’s the first time I’ve really seen you with your game face on, and that’s a part of your personality I’m just going to have to get used to as I get more exposure to it."

"You talk like my playing is a permanent thing."

"Well, I think that based on what you proved out there today, it can be, if you want it to."

"Mm."

"Anyway," Cat continued lightly, knowing this was a subject at its end, "it’s something to think about. Right now, though, all I can think about is my aching muscles."

"This is the best thing for you. Just sit in here for about a half hour and tomorrow it won’t hurt nearly as much."

"You’re trying to make it better aren’t you?"

"Yes."

"You’re lying aren’t you?"

"Yes."

Cat smiled and slid closer, giving Dylan a kiss on the cheek. "You’re sweet."

"I had plans tonight," Dylan sighed. "I was going to treat the team to dinner and then come back here and make love to you."

"Just me or the whole team?"

Dylan growled and splashed water at Cat. "Brat." She grimaced and straightened her own leg.

"Your knee?"

"It’s a little stiff," she allowed.

"You know a very wise person once told me if you soak in a hot tub for a half hour the pain won’t be so bad in the morning."

One blue eye opened and looked at the grinning blonde. "I could drown you, you know?"

"True, but you won’t."

"Why not?"

"Because I’m the only one who knows how to make you forget when your knee is bothering you."

"You are in no condition to do that."

"Well, perhaps I could invite you into the shower with me and I could wash your back. It might not make you forget, but it certainly couldn’t hurt."

Dylan’s brow rose as she sipped her own juice. "True."

******

Cat rubbed her hands over Dylan’s back, knowing she should be using the sponge to actually do some washing, but why anyone would want a sponge between them and Dylan’s silky skin, she just couldn’t fathom.

The water ran over them from multiple jets set to massage their bodies gently, though as Dylan leaned with her hands against the wall, she realized Cat was doing a much better job than the showerheads ever could. "I have I told you tonight, I love you?"

"You haven’t mentioned it tonight."

Dylan turned and looked into Cat’s eyes. "My mistake. I love you."

"I love you too."

"How’s your knee?"

"I’ll show you mine if you show me yours." Cat smiled and leaned up to kiss her lover.

The kiss, which was meant to be chaste, quickly turned passionate. The warmth of the water enhanced the heat between them as their hands began to explore well-known flesh. Cat forgot the pain in her body as Dylan’s touch turned insistent, causing her nerve endings to focus on other things.

The wall of she shower was cool against her back, making a delightful contrast for her as her eyes slipped closed when she felt Dylan, kissing her way down her body. There was soft moan when the sensation of the water running over her stomach continued down, only to have Dylan kissing it away.

"Your knee…" Cat managed to concentrate long enough to gasp it out even as her fingers tangled in dark, wet hair.

"Shhhh…" Dylan whispered, becoming more focused on her task.

It didn’t take long before they were both on the floor of the shower. What had started with Dylan taking charge was now a mutual exploration in pleasure and satisfaction. As their bodies released and fell together, Dylan managed to pull them up against the wall to keep the water from overwhelming them.

"Oh to hell with the hot tub," Cat sighed, pushing her hair from her eyes.

*******

"How ya feelin’?" Shaniqua Chaney asked Cat as she came to sit next to her on the locker-room bench. Though they were deep in the underground of Metropolitan Sports Arena, they could feel the crowd noise pulsing around them like the beat of a heart. It was, in a word, unnerving.

"Well," Cat replied, taking a sip of water and praying it would stay down this time, "breakfast, lunch, and all three of yesterday’s meals never got a chance to become fat cells, and my toenails were in danger of coming up through my throat, so if that’s any indication…." Chaney winced in sympathy. "How about you?"

"Well, my food managed to stay where it’s supposed to, but I’m about as nervous as a longtailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs."

"How…quaint."

"You dissin my grandpappy?"

"God forbid," Cat replied, hand over her heart to show her sincerity. "I’m sure he was a very wise old fellow in his day."

"Was? Girl, he’s sitting in the stands somewhere with his cane, his hearing aids, and his air horn. Best be hopin’ it’s not too close to the court! He’ll blast you one and you won’t come down till after you’ve gone around Mars a few times!"

Cat’s laughter had the desired effect on her belly, and her nerves settled to a dull roar. The next sip of water went down easier than the first into a stomach that was now calm, cool, and steady. "Thanks, Chane," she said, finally, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"No problem, Shortchange. Can’t have our point guard with a case of the terminal jitters. Bad for business, ya know."

"I guess you’re right about that."

"Speaking of terminal, where’s Coach D?"

"I wish I knew," Cat sighed, throwing her hands in the air. "We split up after we came here and I haven’t seen her since."

"So, you rode in together," Chaney said slyly. "Must be nice." The guard laughed at Cat’s expression. "Oh, c’mon, Shortchange. It’s not like I’m blind to the situation, you know. Hell, I don’t think anyone is. We all think it’s kickin, actually."

"I don’t want to talk about it," Cat mumbled, flushed face hidden in her hands.

*******

"You’re gonna be up in the sky box with him, right?" Dylan asked, leaning against the wall in her warm-ups.

"Yeah, yeah. You just worry about playing. Let me worry about the old man, alright?"

"Mac, something’s going on. I can feel it in my gut. I haven’t been able to get ahold of him for the last three days, and if you’d have seen the look on his face when I stepped out onto the court…."

"I know. And I’m trying to get to the bottom of it. And I will, I promise."

"By then, it might be too late."

"Let me do my job, D," he replied, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing lightly. "You just concentrate on winning this damn thing. If it’s what you think, and he’s stacking his cards against the Badgers taking it all, winning will piss him off more than anything else could. Then we’ll see what happens."

Dylan sighed. "I don’t like it."

"Either do I. Just…trust me, okay?"

"Alright," Dylan replied, summoning up a small smile. "Good luck."

"To you as well, my friend. Kick some ass."

*******

Dylan took a blistering pass from Cat on the fly and didn’t even bother to dribble as she left her feet for a thunderous jam. At the last second, Tanisha Bradford, center for the Monarch, slipped into a blocking stance after Dylan’s feet had already left the ground. The two collided and Jackson, no doubt trying for the Best Actress award at the next year’s Oscars, fell to her back with a loud cry.

"Foul!" the ref shouted, waving his arm. "No basket!"

"What the hell?!?" Cat yelled, running up to the ref. She would have grabbed his arm and spun him around, no doubt earning her an ejection, if Chaney hadn’t luckily gotten there first and grabbed her arm, pulling her quickly away. "Let me go," Cat growled from between clenched teeth. "Now!"

"No way, man!" Chaney growled back, shaking Cat like a terrier with a bone. "That’s just what they want, don’t you get it? The refs are shit, man! They’re gettin’ paid off!" The guard held tight as Cat tried to wriggle free, her gaze rapt to Dylan as she pulled herself out of a tangle of arms and legs and slowly straightened, testing out the strength in her knee. "Listen, Shortchange. This ain’t college ball." Chaney’s breath was hot on her face. "This is business, man! All fuckin’ business! Look at it! Big D’s got three fouls on her and she ain’t touched nobody! You! You got four fuckin traveling calls! I bet you ain’t traveled since you were in grade school!"

Chaney’s words finally got through, and Cat stopped struggling, then turned to her friend, expression set. "What are you saying?"

"It’s a sham, Cat! Nothin’ but a fuckin’ sham. We’re pawns in some fuckin’ chess game so Johnson can get his latest ‘ho a new Mercedes. Don’t you get it? He’s bettin’ against us!"

"But that--."

"But nothin’, Shortchange. Face the facts here. He wants us to lose and he’s paid off the fuckin’ refs to make sure it happens."

"But why would he bet against his own team?"

Chaney snorted. "He don’t give a shit about no fucking championship trophy, Cat. It’s all about the green, man. If he can make more dough bettin’ against us, that’s what he’s gonna do. Face it, Cat. We’re bein’ played."

"You don’t sound too upset about it," Cat observed.

"I guess I ain’t," Chaney replied, shrugging. "My contract’s up after this game anyway, and a pro team in Spain offered me some big bucks to come play for them." She shrugged again. "I’ll probably take ‘em up on it."

"You’d do that, leave the team, leave Dylan like that, even if we win?"

Chaney’s smile was sad as she reached out and gently clasped Cat’s shoulder. "Hon, we ain’t gonna win this one. We gave it a damn good try, but…." Shaking her head, she walked away, leaving Cat standing alone at center court, her heart a whirl of emotions.

*******

Catching the towel tossed to her by the trainer, Cat sat down on the bench next to Dylan, who was adjusting her knee brace. "You okay?" Cat asked.

"Yeah," Dylan replied, straightening up and guzzling a bottle of water before turning to look at her lover. "You?"

Cat looked down at her knotted fingers briefly before raising her head to meet Dylan’s intense stare. "Was…what Chaney said to me back there true?"

Looking over Cat’s head, Dylan lifted an eyebrow in Chaney’s direction. Chaney looked back, shame-faced, giving Dylan all the answer she needed to answer that particular unasked question. She returned her attention to her lover. "It’s true."

Cat’s shoulders sagged. "But why? I don’t mean to come off as terminally naïve here, but isn’t betting against your own team, betting at all, you know, illegal?"

"And your point would be…?"

"This isn’t a joke, Dylan."

"Sure it is. Look around you, Cat. This whole thing is a joke. And by now, everybody’s in on it."

"Except us."

"We’ve got the starring role, Cat."

"How long have you known?"

"I suspected something over the past couple of days. The bastard was just a bit too smug. When I actually knew…well, let’s just say in the eight months that I’ve known you as a player, I’ve never seen you travel. And I still haven’t."

"What are we going to do?"

"Do? What we’ve been doing all year. Play to win."

"Even if they won’t let us?"

"Especially then. He might be able to keep us from winning, but he’ll never make us lose."

******

Cat wanted to have a fit of temper and lay into the referees and opposing players, but she knew that wasn’t really her style and that Dylan would be disappointed in her. As she stood to retake her place on the court, she looked into the seats where the fans were all cheering for the Badgers and she knew she wouldn’t let them down either. She’d play the best game she could and if they lost because the game was rigged, she would know that she did her best against impossible odds.

The thing that bothered her most was the attitude of the other team; they really seemed to be getting off on what was happening. She wondered if they were in on it too, or just stupid. It was true that they were a damn good team, and under normal circumstances the Badgers would be working hard to give them a run for their money, but now the game was being handed to them and they seemed to be enjoying it.

She took a deep breath, as the ball was returned to play. This moment seemed to be going well. They were moving the ball down the court for a shot; the ball came to her and made a fast pass to Dylan who was clear and ready for a beautiful three pointer.

Then it happened. As they tried to block Dylan she whirled to get around them and the whistle blew. She had felt her elbow make contact with her opponent when she tried to make the turn, but she knew, the opponent knew and the fans knew it was accidental and would have been ‘incidental’ contact in a normal game. But this was not a normal game.

"Son of a bi…" the look from Dylan stopped the words form Cat’s mouth as they waited for the ref to make his call. Dylan was warning her against getting pitched out for unsportsmanlike behavior, because the coach knew damn good and well the ref’s would do it.

When the foul call came down and Dylan was sent to the bench the fans were on their feet, screaming and yelling and booing. The referees (and coincidentally some players as well) were pelted with programs and wadded bits of paper that rained down on the court. A time out was called to get the litter cleaned up.

Cat closed her eyes and scratched her fingers over her scalp to work out some of the frustration she was feeling. She didn’t care if it did go against her personal code. Someone was going to die if this kept up. Striding over to the bench, she grabbed a towel and draped it over her head as she took a long hit from the water bottle thrust into her hand.

"Well that’s it; they’ve managed to wrack them up against us…" Caulley remarked, looking down at her ever-present clipboard. It was covered with scribbles that might as well be Egyptian hieroglyphics for all the good they were doing the team.

"It’s bullshit!" Cat growled as she toweled her neck.

"I know it is, Catherine, but we don’t have a choice. Dylan is done, so we need to do the best we can here. From this point forward, we’re playing a straight passing game and we’re going to do our damndest to keep ourselves and the ball away from them. If we can’t get close to them, then we don’t want them close to us."

"They’ll just call us out for traveling." Chaney grumbled from her position kneeling at the coach’s feet. "Look at what they’ve been doing to Shortchange."

"There’s no easy answer here."

"Maybe we should just forfeit."

"No way." Caulley stood, pointing her tablet at the guard. "You’re going to go back out there and you’re going to play this game. We’re not going to let these people down. You can bet we’re going to challenge these calls, but we can’t do it now. All we can do it give it our best shot."

Diana looked at each of her players and she could see that mentally, they were beaten, but she wasn’t going to let them give in. "I promise you all that this will work out. Not today and maybe not tomorrow, but it will work out. You have to act like the professionals you are. So go back out there and do your best. Party at Dylan's house tonight for the best damn team in the league."

Everyone couldn’t help but laugh as they made their plans to finish the game.

*******

Dylan zipped her warm-up jacket as she strode down the short, dark hallway toward the Skybox that held one Horace Johnson. Standing next to the closed door was Mac, resplendent in a dark suit and crisp white shirt, his face grim. "D...."

"Buzz off, Mac."

"But--"

"I'm serious. You don't want to be here right now. I'll catch up with you later." She reached for the door handle, only to have Mac's huge hand clamp onto her wrist at the last second. She looked down at the hand for a moment, then turned cold, steel-colored eyes to her friend. One eyebrow slowly rose.

Clearing his throat, Mac released her wrist, and thrust a folder into her face. "Before you do anything, just take a look at this, alright?"

After a moment, she relaxed her muscles and, with a frustrated breath, grabbed the folder. Inside were three summary sheets. She began to smile. It wasn't a pleasant one, by any means, but its very presence caused Mac to breathe a silent sigh of relief.

"We got the bastard," she said finally, eyes sparkling fiercely.

"Yeah, we got him. Safely, and legally. D, listen to me, please. You don't have to do...whatever it is that you're going in there to do. You do something stupid, and this could all blow up in our faces."

"'Stupid' as in using his fat head to test the tensile strength of the window glass inside his skybox?"

"Yeah, something like that."

Dylan patted his chest with the folder. "No worries, my friend."

"But--"

"I mean it. This is between Horace and me. You were never here. Now buzz off."

"Dylan...."

"Now."

With a grunt, he pushed himself away from the wall. "Don't make me have to bail you out of jail, D. Not again. Please."

"Just go."

A last, pleading look, and he went.

Dylan twisted the door handle, opened the heavy door, and slipped silently inside. Horace was alone, standing before the huge windows of his box, staring down onto the court. He was rocking on his toes, hands clamped behind his back. He looked, in short, like a naughty little boy whose dreams were one second away from coming true.

"Always were a little lax with your personal security, weren't ya, Horace?"

Johnson slowly turned. His smirk seemed a permanent fixture on his seamed, homely face. "Ms. Lambert, how wonderful to see you here, darkening my doorstep." He looked down at the folder in her hand. "Your letter of resignation, I presume? It's a terrible pity, though it has been fully documented that ones of your particular...perversion...never were able to accept responsibility."

Dylan crossed the room in a few long, silent strides. "You'll probably want to be rethinking that...boss."

"Really? Why?" His eyes were filled with a babe's innocence, but the smirk never left his face. "Whatever you're going to show me, Ms. Lambert, please do it quickly. I'm missing the end of the game."

"As if you didn't know how it was gonna end already. Does the name Tony Scippone ring any kind of a bell with you, Horace?"

A muscle twitched, just briefly, near the corner of one eye. Then his brow smoothed and the smug look returned. "Can't say as it does, Ms. Lambert. Friend of yours? Fellow Sodomite, perhaps?"

"Las Vegas bookie, actually. Some degenerate laid down two hundred grand on the Badgers to lose by fourteen or more points."

"Really," he drawled, rocking on his toes again. "I'd say that that person was in for quite a handsome profit, given that the team is currently losing by...." A quick look over his shoulder, "...twenty one."

Dylan shrugged. "Guess you're going to have to fire the help, then. Seems that your new admin assistant...Bambi....Barbie....Bimbo...whomever placed the bet in her name, but used your line of credit with ol' Tony to do it."

The muscle twitched again, then smoothed. "Pity. She had the makings of an excellent assistant."

"Betting against your own team, Horace. That's a new low, even for you. Of course, it's not just the kind of thing that's against league rules. It's also illegal."

"What you lack, Ms. Lambert, other than good breeding and good manners, is proof. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get back to the game. Leave now, or I'll have security escort you out, and it's you who will be spending the night in jail."

"I wonder how many of those refs your purchased tonight will stay bought?" she mused, as if to herself.

Johnson frowned. "That is the second slanderous allegation you've made against me in these past ten minutes, Ms. Lambert. Because I'm a gentleman, I'll allow you those two free of charge, as they say. A third, and you will be escorted from here directly to the nearest police station, and that I can assure you."

Dylan smiled her dangerous smile. "Oh, I think I'll chance it, Horace. Because I really don't think you'd want me to leave before you had the chance to look at this."

With an easy toss, the file slipped into his hands. "Really, Ms. Lambert," he remarked with a martyred sigh, "you're becoming quite the bore. If I didn't know any better, I'd....." There his voice trailed off as he opened the folder and began to read the documents inside. His face paled even as a string of sweat beads popped out across his forehead.

"Horace, Horace, Horace. If you're gonna try to make a living outta scamming Wall Street with that insider trading shit, don't you think you should have taken a couple lessons from Martha and covered your tracks just a little bit better?"

He looked up at her. His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, and stayed that way.

Grinning, Dylan slipped into one of the obscenely opulent skybox seats and crossed her legs casually. "Now it seems to me that my best course of action would be to call the cops right now. But, because I'm a 'lady', and a fair one at that, I figure now might be the perfect time for us to do a little dealing."

A strangled sound came out of his mouth.

Dylan smirked. "I'll take that as a 'yes'." She pretended to think on her words. "You're scum, Horace. You know it. I know it. Your wife and kids know it. But you're lucky, because I like your wife, and your kids. A lot. Almost as much as I detest you. And I really don't want to see them deprived of your company--and your money--for, oh, say the next ten years or so."

Another strangled noise. The folder slipped from his hands as one fist came up to clench at his heart.

"Not that I wouldn't spill every single word in those documents to the DA, the press, and anyone else I felt like spilling it to, but if you give me a reason not to, I might be persuaded to keep my mouth shut. For now." When it was obvious he was incapable of responding, she continued. "Here's my one time only, never to be repeated, take it or leave it offer, Horace. You let Cat out of her contract, quickly and quietly. An amicable decision all the way around. No whispers of improprieties, no nothing. You just...let her go. Me, you can fire if it'll make you feel any better, but Cat is not negotiable. You also let anyone else who wants to get off this team go, no questions asked. And...for my final demand, you sell the team. Tell the league owners it's too hard on your health. Tell them it takes too much time away from you banging your secretary. Tell them anything you want, but you sell and retire from the sport permanently." She smiled. "If you don't, then I walk, and then I talk, and I keep on talking until there is nothing left of you but a pair of holey boxers. Do we understand one another?"

"Urk....heart....."

"Heart? You mean you actually have one of those? Please."

"...heart...."

Dylan slowly stood until she was towering over him. "Do we have a deal, Horace? A simple yes or no will suffice. Yes, and I get on the horn and get you an ambulance. No, and I get on the horn and get the cops. What'll it be?"

"Fuck...you....dyke...."

"Bzzt! Wrong answer." She strode easily over to the phone hanging on one wall. "I'm sorry about this, Horace. Really, I am. But if you can't swim with the big dogs, well....I'm sure you know how the rest of it goes."

"Yes! Yes!! ....deal....!"

Dylan beamed. "I knew you'd see it my way eventually. For the record, though, I would have called in the paramedics either way. You're scum, but I want you to live with your mistakes and my threat hanging over your head for a good long while. I get nasty that way when you threaten people I love." Picking up the phone, she called for the paramedics and ambulance crew stationed outside the arena. Hanging up, the turned to the pale, panting man and patted one of his cheeks before bending down and retrieving the folder. "Goodbye, Horace. A little slice of heaven, and all that."

As she exited the box, he slid slowly down the wall, clutching his chest and retching violently. Behind him, barely heard, the buzzer sounded, ending the game.

*******

Cat walked, shoulders slumped, down the long, dark hallway leading to the locker room. She could hear the boos of the crowd echoing along the corridor, but it did little to lift her spirits. Even the fact that she'd managed, somehow, to score thirty two points in the game didn't cheer her. If she had known that her last second three pointer had narrowed the lead to eleven, thus losing the ubiquitous Horace Johnson two hundred thousand plus dollars, she might have smiled.

Then again, she might not have.

Cat was a woman who didn't like to lose. And she had never, ever lost a championship game she'd ever been a part of, from the Bridgeport Girl's Club Rec League all the way through her final year at UConn. When it counted, she always found a way to win.

Always.

"Except today," she mumbled, looking at the scuffed and dirty floor as it passed beneath her scuffed and dirty sneakers. "Fuck."

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

As Cat looked up, Dylan detached herself from the shadows, crossed over to her, and enveloped her in her long, strong arms. "Hey, sweetheart."

Cat snuggled into the warm embrace, tears pricking at her eyes. "I'm sorry, Dylan," she murmured against the fabric of her lover's warm-up jacket.

Dylan pulled away just enough to reach a hand under Cat's chin and tilt it up so that their eyes met. "Sorry? What could you possibly be sorry for? You did great!"

"But we lost!"

"Hon, that wasn't your fault."

"But--"

"Cat, listen to me. You did everything you could. How many times does the point guard, one with four fouls against her, by the way, get to be the high scorer of the game? Thirty two points, Cat! Seven steals! Nineteen assists! Those are All-Star numbers! Hell, they're Hall of Fame numbers! You need to be proud of that! I sure as Hell am!"

Cat shook her head, looking away from her lover's blazing eyes. "It doesn't matter. We still lost."

"No, Cat. Remember what I said before. We didn't win because Horace fixed it. But we're not losers. Listen to that crowd out there. They know who won. And it wasn't the Monarch, no matter what the scoreboard says." She chuckled. "And it certainly wasn't Horace Johnson, either."

Cat's eyes went round. "What? But how can you-- But you said--"

"Yeah, he bet against us, that's true enough. But, he also bet against the spread, and with your last second bucket, you brought us inside that spread and he lost himself a bundle of cash." The wan smile she received wasn't enough, and Dylan took her lover back into her arms again. "Sweetheart, within a week, probably less, your phone is going to start ringing off the hook with calls from owners, coaches and scouts who want to wine and dine you into accepting a huge dollar contract from them. The same with sponsors. Your agent's gonna think she died and went to Agent Heaven. With how you performed out there today, despite all the obstacles thrown in your path, you can write your own ticket. You won, Cat. You won it all."

"But...what about the contract I already have? With the Badgers?"

"If it isn't dissolved yet, it soon will be. Easy split, no nasty words, you're just left free and clear to follow your heart."

Cat looked up at Dylan, her eyes showing her puzzlement. "But...how?"

"Horace and I...came to an understanding." That shark's grin came again. "In exchange for keeping some rather nasty information to myself, you get cut loose with no strings, anyone else who wants to leave gets the same ticket and, for the piece de resistance...." She twirled an imaginary moustache, "...he's selling the team."

"Oh my God," Cat breathed. "What the hell do you have on him?"

Dylan shook her head. "The less you know about that, the better off you're gonna be, love. Let's just say that Mac was able to dig up a couple of things that could have put our ex-owner in the pokey for a very long time. In exchange for my silence in the matter, he's accepted my terms."

"But that's blackmail!"

Dylan's grin was unrepentant. "You bet it is, darlin'. Blackmail for a blackmailer. He got hoist up by his own ass, and I'm the one holding the scissors. And he knows it. He's through, Cat. Finished. And it couldn't have happened to a bigger scum sucker."

"And what about you?"

"He can do what he wants with me," she replied, shrugging. "It doesn't really matter."

"He could ruin you, Dylan! He could spread things about you all over the place! Horrible things!"

"As long as your name and face is kept out of those 'things', Cat, then I'm not worried. My reputation will either speak for me, or it won't. And either way," she shrugged again, "it doesn't matter."

"But basketball is your life!"

"I've come to find that I've got other priorities now, my love." So saying, she bent down to give Cat a soft kiss. "Something much more important to me than basketball could ever be." She pulled away. "You, however...."

Cat frowned. Dylan looked alarmed. "Cat? What is it?"

"What would you think if I told you that...maybe...basketball isn't what I want anymore, either?"

"Cat, you can't mean that! You're just starting out! You'll be the star this league is looking for, love! You deserve that!"

"Dylan," Cat said, sighing, "if tonight proved anything to me, it proved that this is not the basketball I fell in love with. It's not a game anymore. It's politics, it's bullshit, and, tonight, it's a joke. Why would I want to be the star of something that I detest? What does a whole room full of money mean when I can't stand to do my job anymore?"

"Oh, Cat...."

"I don't know. Maybe I'll think differently about all this tomorrow, but for right now...." She shook her head. Then, for the first time tonight, a genuine smile curved her lips. "You told me I was free to follow my heart, right?"

Dylan nodded.

"Good," she replied, pulling her lover in close, "because right now, my heart wants a big bowl of ice cream, a long soak in your Jacuzzi, and you, naked."

"Ohhhh, darlin, your heart can have whatever it wants, any place, any time."

"Good. Then let's get changed and get the hell out of here."

"Right behind you."

*******

Before they could leave, however, Dylan made a farewell speech to her team. "...and you should all be proud as Hell over what you managed to accomplish. Not just tonight, but through the entire season. You became more than what you started out as. You became a team, the best damn team in the league. You comported yourself with style and grace, flair and good sportsmanship. And when you look back on this night some day, years from now, you'll see that it, more than any other, was the point that you went from being simple ballplayers to being champions." She gave a fond smile to each member. "As a result of what happened here tonight, there are going to be some changes, changes that you'll be hearing about shortly. Basically, this team is being dissolved and the owner is stepping down. Any one of you who want out of your contracts will be allowed out, free and clear. You'll be back on the open market, and believe me, with what you showed everyone out there today, you're all going to be fielding a lot of phone calls."

"What about you, coach?" Chaney asked.

"That...remains up in the air. But I'm not worried about it, and none of you should be either, alright?"

There was some grumbling over this, but a look from 'the Goddess' quieted it instantly. "I just wanted to tell you all that I've been proud, damn proud, to be associated with each and every one of you. You're a helluva team, and I wish you nothing but good luck and smooth sailing wherever your careers take you. Thanks for taking me on this trip with you."

As one, the team stood and began to chant Dylan's name. Even though they hadn't won, champagne corks popped and they were soon dousing one another with the bubbly liquid, laughing and cheering as if they'd taken the whole thing.

Cat joined in the laughter as she watched her lover use her much vaunted defensive skills to stay, for the moment, out of the fracas. She was right, Cat thought with a sense of surprise. That jerk could keep us from winning, but he could never make us lose.

And with her spirits thusly buoyed, she waded into the fray, a freshly popped champagne bottle ready for dumping on the most beautiful woman she knew, inside and out. Screw you, Johnson, and screw you basketball. There's finally something in my heart more important than the both of you could ever be.

And then, she pounced.

The END

EPILOGUE

"Dylan?"

"Mmn?"

Grinning, Cat fanned herself with her open copy of "Alabama Coaches Monthly". Lowering her sunglasses just slightly, she turned her head to fully take in the view of the woman beside her. Lying on her belly in a seaside lounge chair, Dylan Lambert was the posterchild for clean living. Toned almost black by the constant sun, the white thong part of her bathing suit left nothing to the imagination, and Cat spent a good few minutes mapping every curve and valley of the long body stretched out before her. The tiny straps that held her top--what there was of it--up were, of course, untied to permit even tanning, and Cat found herself half-hoping that a loud noise or something would startle her somnolent lover enough to have her come up from her position.

Then she looked over that the small groups of men and women who continued to dart looks her dark lover's way and nixed that hope for good and all. Mine, she thought to herself. Allll mine.

Turning her head toward Cat, Dylan cracked her sun sensitive eyes just the slightest bit open. "Did you need something?"

Cat smirked. "Oh, the many ways I could answer that particular question. However, since we're in public right now, I just was wanting to tell you that I saw an ad here for a coach over at St. Catherine's Girl's High. The candidate has to have a teaching degree too. I think they want them doing the Health classes or something."

Dylan chuckled. "Your mom will think she's died and gone to heaven. You...teaching. In a Catholic girl's school even."

"Mm. You have a point there."

"Is it something you're considering?"

"I don't know. Guess it's good to keep my options open."

"True."

As Dylan's eyes slipped closed, Cat thought back on the past three weeks of her life. True to her lover's prediction, no more than two days had passed since the championship game when her phone began ringing off the hook. Seemed that every single coach and owner in the league wanted to talk to her. She'd even been surprised by the number of calls coming from outside the United States. Teams from Spain, France, Germany and Japan were hustling to beat the band. She was, it seemed, a very hot commodity.

Thus far, Horace Johnson had managed to keep his word. She received the letters releasing her from her contract, and there was, as Haley Locke put it, no muss and no fuss to go with them. The team's owner--he hadn't sold yet--refused to be interviewed in the aftermath of the last game of the season. Of course, it had helped that he'd just been released from the hospital after an attack of angina, and the press wasn't all that inclined to push.

More surprisingly, he'd let Dylan go just as quietly as he'd let Cat, and most of the other Badgers go as well. Cat often wondered just what it was that Dylan dangled over his head, but realized that in this case, some secrets were best kept behind locked lips. At least until she'd determined her life's path and couldn't be hurt by them anymore.

Dylan had fielded more than her fair share of calls--she *was* the Goddess, after all, and number one in anybody's eyes, be it as a player, a coach, or a combination of the two. She'd turned them all down with class and aplomb, leaving her many callers feeling better than any right to feel, considering she'd said 'no' to their offers.

Finally, when neither of them could take anymore, Dylan suggested a vacation on Antigua. Cat had jumped at the suggestion before it had even fully left her partner's lips, kissing her soundly for her good judgment, then rushing off to pack. They'd both left their cell phones at home, and their destination with Mac, who was under orders not to breathe a word of it to anyone under penalty of a severe hurting. He'd gotten the message loud and clear.

So why, she mused, was Carlos, the admittedly hunky cabana boy, coming toward them with a tray in his hand? A tray that bore something that looked suspiciously like a phone atop its silvery elegance?

As he approached, Carlos flashed a toothy grin at them both while bowing at the waist. "Good afternoon to you Ms Cat and Ms Dylan," he began in his lightly accented voice.

"That'd better not be a phone in your hand," Dylan muttered from her place on the lounge.

The young man's smile faltered slightly, then regained previous wattage as he bowed again. "Yes, Ms. Dylan, it is a phone."

"I'm gonna kill Mac," she grumbled, pressing her top to herself in deference to Cat, and reaching for the phone.

"No, Ma'am, it is not a Mac. He says his name is a....Thad Carter?"

Dylan and Cat exchanged glances. Thad Carter was the head coach of the Dallas Mavs, the men's pro basketball team. Pressing the phone to her ear, Dylan said, "Thad? That you?"

"Dylan! Thank God. I've been looking for you everywhere!"

"I'm on vacation, Thad." Cat could see her lover's jaws clamp hard on the invective that was just begging to come out.

"Oh."

"So, what was so urgent that you had to call halfway around the world to speak to me? Is the sky falling? Stock market crash? Horace Johnson finally bit the big one while screwing his admin? What?"

Thad chuckled. "No, no, nothing like that. It's just that...well....I....."

"Spit it out, Thad. I'm beginning to tan unevenly here."

Cat smothered her laughter with a hand to her mouth. Dylan turned and tipped her a wink.

"I'm waiting, Thad."

"Ok, listen, it's like this. You probably haven't heard the news, being on vacation and all, but I've been named the Head Coach of the USA Women's Basketball team for this year's Olympics. And, well, I'd like you and Catherine to consider playing for my team. Now I know that you're both semi-retired, but you're also the best female players in the damn world, and I want you and your talents on my side of the court. We'll win the gold if you're there, sure as shit sticks to a sheep's ass."

"Charming, Thad. Utterly charming."

She could almost feel the man's blush on the other end of the line. "Sorry. It's just...."

"I know what it's just, Thad." She sighed, rolling over to one side so that she was facing Cat, who looked to be ready to go into convulsions unless she found out what they were talking about, and soon, too. "Listen, you're right. We're both semi-retired, and we took this vacation to get away from all the hounds and freaks and assorted other nutjobs wanting a piece of us. So I can't give you our answer right now. We'll have to discuss it between us."

"I understand," he replied quickly. "I am a little pressed for time, though. This was kinda sprung on me the last minute too."

"Spreading the wealth around. I like that about you, Thad. But the fact is, we'll take all the time we need to come to a decision. Neither of us is in the mood to be pushed right now. If that is too tough on you, go ahead and get someone else."

"No, no. I want you two first. It's a lot easier for top prospects to say yes if they know the top dogs are already in the pen."

"Another brilliant analogy from a man full of...something." But she grinned as she said it, and she knew he could hear the levity in her voice. "Give us a day or two to talk it over, alright? We'll call you when we've made up our minds."

"Either way?"

"Either way. I promise."

"Alright. I'll look forward to hearing from you, then. And I'm sorry about disturbing your vacation."

"That's fine. Talk to you later."

Hanging up the phone, she waved Carlos away, then rolled to a sitting position on the lounge. Cat was all but buzzing with anticipation, gem green eyes sparkling in the strong sunshine. "Well?"

"That," she teased, "was Thad Carter."

"I know that."

"He coaches the Mavs."

Dylan could hear her lover's teeth grinding. "I know that, too, dear."

"Yes, I guess you do." Hands over her head, she gave a leisurely stretch, showing off every deeply tanned and muscular ripple in her skin. A short distance away a man, too busy eyeing Dylan to know where he was going tripped over his wife, dumping her into the sand. Cat chuckled despite her frustration.

"C'mon, Dylan, stop teasing the tourists and give already."

"The tourists?"

"No, you rat. What did Coach Carter say to you?"

Dylan gave an offhand shrug, then peered down at her fingernails. "Oh, he might have mentioned that he got suckered into taking the Olympic head coaching job and wants us to play for our country in the Olympics this summer."

"You're shitting me!"

"Nope."

Cat tried hard to keep the joy flowing inside her deeply bottled. Without knowing how Dylan felt about the whole thing, she wanted to keep her reactions inside until she was sure, one way or the other.

Dylan, however, could easily read the happiness in her lover's beautiful face, and it brought a smile to her own. "You did mention, once, that you would have liked to represent your country in the Olympics, right?"

"Well, yes," she replied, trying to keep it casual. "I might have mentioned something like that once or twice."

Dylan nodded carefully. "So...it's something that you might want to consider?"

"It might be," she replied slowly. "If it's something you're willing to consider as well. I know what happened last time, Dylan. It just about ruined your career."

"But it didn't. And the more I think about it, the more I think I'd like to try the whole experience again. With you."

"Funny. That's exactly what I was gonna say to you. Except for the 'again' part."

"So, we're in?"

"We're in."

And the two lovers kissed to seal the deal.

*******

Seven months later, Cat grinned as she looked over the mantle in the house that they both shared. Inside a velvet lined, glass fronted box hung two gold medals, their rewards for taking the USA team to the very top of the Olympic world. She grazed her fingers very close to the glass, seeing the bright and shining memories of that heady, wonderful time in the medals hanging before her. She could almost hear the chants of "USA! USA! USA! USA!" when they'd been called to the top of the podium to receive their just rewards. A large framed shot held the place of honor next to the medals. It was a picture of the whole team standing atop the highest step of the podium. Dylan and Cat, in the center, were holding hands, eyes sparkling with tears of pride as they watched the flag being hoisted to the top of the arena, mouths frozen in the singing of the National Anthem.

"God," she whispered, "what a time." She could feel the goosebumps prickle across her skin and a warm, tingling flush of blood moving through her. "What a time."

Taking her tea, she moved to sit in the butter-soft couch that lined the back wall of the den. Dylan was off getting her face plastered on Wheeties boxes from here to Peoria. Cat herself had just returned from a relatively tame Nike shoot. All of her clothes had stayed on, at any rate. And right here, right now, she was perfectly content. The past was unchangeable, the future not yet set in stone, and she could, for once in her life, live completely in this moment.

Unfortunately, this particular moment wasn't exactly the most exciting of its genre, and she soon found her lids grow heavy. Listening to her body, she placed the tea mug on the table beside the couch, and slipped more comfortably into its warm embrace. She was asleep more quickly than she ever realized.

*******

In his opulent office, Horace Johnson mopped the sweat from his brow with a slightly yellowed handkerchief, then looked back down at the latest offer sheet. It was a blind offer, and it irked him no end not to know who was behind this thing. But as his daddy had been prone to say in similar circumstances, beggars can't be choosers, and it's best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. The Platitude King was Johnson's father, currently residing in the hottest pits of Hell, if his son's prayers had any effect on the thing.

He looked at the final numbers again, and scowled. The offer was much, much less than his asking price. He was getting scammed by a pro. A pro too chickenshit to show his face. "Shit."

"It's a viable offer," his lawyer informed him, as if he was blind to that fact. "Less than you wanted, of course, but more than anyone else has put on the table. Of course, we could give it more time."

Time. That blasted thing that Johnson seemed to be accumulating less and less of as the months went by. He could all but feel the combined nooses of the IRS and the SEC tightening around his neck as every hour passed. Most of his legitimate businesses had had to be shut down to conserve rapidly diminishing capital. What he needed, and quickly, was a chunk of cold, hard cash that he could use to buy the best lawyer in town, and let him slide an easy judge a bribe he couldn't refuse. Barring that, a good bit of grease would get him far away from here, perhaps to a place where there was no extradition back to this cesspit of a country who wouldn't rest until they saw him trying to pick up the soap in a shower-room filled with degenerates.

"Alright," he grumbled, finally. "Alright, I'll sign the damned thing. You're sure the payout's in cash, right?"

"That's part of the deal, yes."

"Alright, then. Let's get this over with." He signed page after page after page after page with his usual flourish, realizing with a sense of almost relief that he was slowly, but surely, taking himself out from beneath that dyke bitch Lambert's unnatural thumb. Oh yes, he would pay her back for what she'd done to him. Pay her back in spades. And his life would once again be sweet. Heck, it might be that the new owner of the Badgers would be willing to go in on it with him. It was a well known fact that the league owners hated queers every bit as much as he did. Some even more so. Yes, he thought, smiling, life turns out good after all.

He pushed the stack of papers to his lawyer, his customary smirk, which had been absent lo these past several months, returned in all its force. "Now that we got this out of the way, think the new owner will meet me now? I think we might have a few things to talk about." His smirk broadened, then lost some of its steam as his own lawyer supplied the same expression in return.

"Oh," he remarked, "I have no doubt that can be arranged. Stay here for a moment and I'll check with them to make sure everything's acceptable. Then you can meet, ok?"

"Perfect."

Feeling every inch a fat, satisfied cat, Horace put his feet up on his shiny desk, pulled a cigar from his pocket, and lit it with a flourish. He eyed the bottle of cognac sitting on an antique table nearby, and began to laugh.

Several minutes later, his lawyer stuck his head in through the door. "The new owner's ready to meet with you now."

"Send him in," Horace replied expansively, round face flushed with joy. "Send him right the hell in."

The lawyer's head disappeared, and the heavy door slid open.

Horace choked on his cigar as the new owner of the Badgers strode into the room, briefcase stuffed with cash in one hand, an insufferable smirk on her stunningly beautiful face. "Hello, Horace," came the low purr.

"N--" He choked again. "No! Nooooooo!!!! It can't--you can't---I won't---"

"Oh, that's where you're wrong. It can, you will, and I just did. Enjoy your blood money, maggot. The Badgers are mine."

Wide, bulging eyes turned to his lawyer, who shrugged, but didn't look all that unhappy.
"Signed, sealed and delivered boss, just like you ordered."

With a grin, Dylan Lambert tossed the heavily laden briefcase across the table, where it landed against the chest of the former owner of her team. "There ya go, scumbag."

"You can't! I protest! I didn't....."

Dylan strode across the room to the other side of his desk. Placing both palms flat against it, she leaned over until their faces were mere inches apart. "Game over, Horace. You lose."

"Noooooooooo!"

"Mac?" Dylan tossed over her shoulder.

"Yeah, boss?" the giant man responded, stepping into the office. "Something you wanted?"

"Yeah. Get this pig outta my office before I call the cops and have him arrested for trespassing."

Mac grinned. "With pleasure, boss. C'mon, you. You're outta here."

Pale and trembling, Johnson didn't even put up a fight as Mac dragged him from his chair and across the room. "I'll get you for this, you dyke bitch. If it takes every last penny I have, I will get you."

"Don't ever make a promise you can't keep, little man. Now get out, before I forget what a gentlewoman I am and kick your ass from here to the first floor."

"You're going to regret this, Lambert! Count on it!!"

"Oh, I'm countin on something alright. Now get the hell outta here. You're stinking up my space."

Very soon, the door was closed, leaving Dylan to survey her new empire. Chuckling, she moved to the other side of the desk, sank down into the leather office chair, and picked up the phone, dialing the number by heart. "Hello, my love," she purred into the speaker.

"Dylan? Where are you? I expected you home a couple of hours ago! How'd the shoot go!"

"Fine," she replied, grinning. "Just fine."

"Then why aren't you here?"

"Oh," she said, "just stopped to take care of a little business."

"What kind of business." The voice, rife with suspicion, came back over the phone. "Dylan, what did you do?"

Leaning back in the chair, Dylan propped her feet atop the desk. "Well, after our time in the Olympics, I realized that I still loved the game. It made me realize all over again just what is so special about it to me. And I figured that this league, if it's gonna have a chance in hell of recapturing that magic, has to undergo some real changes. So...."

A pregnant silence on the other end of the line.

"I bought the Badgers."

"You bou...you b...you bought the Badgers?!?"

"Yup. I installed myself as player-owner, with Diana Caulley as head coach. She's paid her dues, and she deserves this chance to prove herself. I'm willing to give that to her."

"Oh. My. God. You fucking bought the Badgers!"

"Sure did. And, you know, I could use a really outstanding point guard who knows how the game should be played and who can set an example for all those young kids coming up through High School and College."

"You're asking me to join you?"

"Well, yeah. But, Cat, it's called 'asking' for a reason. I'll not force you into anything you don't want to do. If teaching ball to schoolkids is what fulfills you and makes you happy, then you have my full love and support. I did this for us, and for those kids out there who need to know that there's someone other than the Horace Johnsons out there who just want to make a buck, no matter how. But you can do the exact same thing by teaching those kids when they're young and just beginning to dream of making it to this level. The choice is yours."

Cat thought about that for a moment. She remembered the look of absolute joy on her mother's face when she told her she'd been considering taking the coaching spot at St. Catherine's. The woman almost broke down and wept, for goodness' sake!

But she couldn't hide the fact that her time in the Olympics brought that competitive spark back so strong that it was with her still, many months after the event had ended. She was honest enough to admit to herself that what would truly fulfill her, profession-wise at least--was another shot at playing at the professional level. There would still be gobs of schoolgirls waiting for her wisdom once she retired from the game. She had too much to do and to learn first, though. Another thought popped into her head. "What...what if I decided to accept an offer from another team?"

"Well, of course I'd be disappointed, Cat, but I've always told you to do what makes you happy. An unhappy Cat makes for an unhappy Dylan, and I really don't want it to be that way."

"Well, I'd be happiest playing for you. I know that. But there'd be talk."

"Screw the talk. I've been given carte blanche to clean this league up, and that's what I intend to do. People either get their heads out of their asses and watch the game for what it's supposed to represent...entertainment...or they can go find another hobby. No more politics. No more bullshit. A good league, run a good way, and we might just have something." She fiddled with one of Horace's pens. "So, you just think about things, Cat. Have Haley represent you at contract signing, no matter who you decide to play for. You won't get a penny more or a penny less than what you deserve."

There was only a moment of silence before Cat came back on the line. "There's really no choice for me, Dylan. Loyalty means something to me. And you've always told me to follow my heart. My heart, Ms. Pallas Dylan Lambert, is with you. I'd come back to the Badgers even if you put me on the lowest rookie salary on the books."

Dylan laughed. "I don't think there's a chance in hell of that happening, love." She looked around the office once again. "So, why don't you throw on some clothes and meet me up here. I think I can promise you an evening to remember."

"I'll be holding you to that."

"Good. Now hurry up."

Cat laughed. "I love you, Dylan. With all my heart."

"And I love you, Catherine. Forever."

The End